


The Phoenix and the Dragon

by smoochfestmod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoochfestmod/pseuds/smoochfestmod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Author/Artist LJ Name: barefacedbandit<br/>Songspiration: Stand and Deliver - Adam Ant<br/>Prompter: star_sailor13<br/>Title: The Phoenix and The Dragon<br/>Prompt Number: 215<br/>Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Draco/Astoria and a few briefly mentioned side pairings<br/>Summary: In the summer of his eighteenth year, Draco Malfoy meets notorious highwayman The Phoenix for the first time. But not the last.<br/>Rating: NC-17<br/>Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.<br/>Warning(s): AU, using bits and pieces of canon as I see fit and discarding others on a whim. Canon compliant character deaths (not Harry or Draco). Explicitly bottom!Draco, with discussion of switching. Fake relationships and infidelity within them. Suspension of disbelief, some magic in a non-magic setting.<br/>Epilogue compliant? Nope<br/>Word Count: 30k+</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phoenix and the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Apologies: First of all to the Mods for putting up with my terrible inability to work to a deadline. To my beta who didn't realise I was even entering Smooch. And to the prompter - I saw your prompt and I really wanted to write about a dandy highwayman. Obviously the story didn't follow the prompt and it got a bit darker than I had intended, but I hope that all's well that ends well. And being Smooch, I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to say that it does end well ;)

It was the summer of my eighteenth year when I first met The Phoenix.  
  
At the time, I was so dreadfully bored with the smallness of my life. Oh, my family had the means and the money to travel, and we did. But everywhere I found myself in yet another grand house, with the same dull people, making the same dull conversation. I longed for the kind of adventure and romance I found between the pages of my books.  
  
My best friend, Pansy, had attempted to fill a part of that longing on the night of my birthday ball. She had corralled me into a dark corner of the Manor, and proceeded to kiss me in a way that would make my novel heroines blush. Perhaps the heroes too, though I wasn’t quite so sure about that.  
  
Perhaps it was that I knew her too well, or perhaps it was that her full curves filled me with more terror than longing. I had not the slightest notion of what to do with her, though she showed me in no uncertain way what she wanted.  
  
In truth, I had begun to wonder at my lack of desire. Or rather my lack of desire for the opposite sex. My fevered dreams and fantasies all revolved around men. Some that I knew, some that I did not. I had more than my share of imaginings involving Lord Voldemort, whom it was said had been beautiful in his youth, and I imagined that he must still be handsome, though no-one spoke of him in that way. I presumed it was a matter of respect.  
  
I told Pansy I loved her too well to spoil our friendship with base sexual acts. She slapped my face so hard I had to lie and say I had fallen from my horse, when my mother questioned the mark the next day. I’m quite sure she didn’t believe me, since I was an excellent rider.  


 

*

  
  
The summer was drawing to a close when my father came to me and told me Lord Voldemort wished to see me, since I was now of age and could take his Mark. I could sense his hesitation, as though there was something he was not saying, but I paid it no mind. It was a great honour to take the Mark - a sign of my loyalty.  
  
My father had always spoken of Voldemort as though the walls had ears, in hushed reverence. His past was shrouded in mystery, and all I knew was that he claimed some relation to royalty. Father believed he was the way forward for us all, against the rising civil unrest and the bands of outlaws terrorising the country.  
  
My father was a favourite in Voldemort’s court. And still I had to endure over an hour of lecturing on how I was to comport myself, so as not to bring shame upon our family.  
  
It was already midday before I was ready to leave; Father’s admonishments ringing in my ears, Mother fussing over me as though she would never see me again. I wanted to tell them to stop being so melodramatic. I didn’t need their hysteria spoiling things.  
  
My carriage sped through the forest, jostling me intolerably. I rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage, three times with my cane. A few moments later a hand pushed down the sash a fraction, and a small round face appeared, sharp brown eyes peering in at me inquisitively.  
  
“Sir?” the driver’s boy asked.  
  
“What the devil is going on? Why are we going so blasted fast? I can barely keep to my seat. Tell the driver to slow down.”  
  
“It’s The Phoenix, sir. He’s held up three carriages this past month, these are his woods,” the boy replied, his eyes wide, though he sounded anything but afraid. But of course, The Phoenix, being a man of the people, would likely hand the boy a pouch of gold and expect him to make something of himself. As if money alone could do that.  
  
I was furious, resentful of the man who was holding us all - my friends and acquaintances,  _my father_  - to ransom like this. I also felt fear, but pushed it aside.  
  
“Tell the driver to go carefully, the last thing we need is to throw a wheel,” I said, determined not to allow my apprehension to show.  
  
The boy disappeared, leaving the sash open.  
  
It was a chilly day with a smattering of rain on the wind, raising goosebumps and making me shiver. I moved across the carriage to push the sash back up.  
  
It was lucky that my hand was still on the sash, as it kept me from crashing to the floor when the carriage lurched hard, coming to a rapid halt, amidst startled cries and muffled thumps from outside.  
  
I pushed the sash all the way down, poking my head out to call up. “What now? My father will be furious if I’m late for my meeting with Lord-.”  
  
But the driver and his boy didn’t even spare me a glance, too busy looking at the ambush we had driven into.  
  
I counted six men on horseback that I could see - The Order of the Phoenix, as the Prophet had dubbed them - each with a pistol aimed in the general direction of the carriage.  
  
One of the six nudged his horse forward at a walk, training his pistol on me, since I had neglected to withdraw it, instead staring at the sight in a state of shock.  
  
Belatedly I pulled back, fumbling with the sash in an attempt to push it back up. As if that could protect me.  
  
And then I remembered:  _Protection. Of course!_  
  
I rapped twice at the rear of the carriage, but neither Crabbe nor Goyle answered. It was then I began to panic in earnest.  
The door was almost wrenched off its hinges, dragging me along with it. I only just let go in time to avoid tumbling out.  
  
I lunged for my gun, wishing fervently that I’d gone for that straight away instead of wasting time on the sash. “I’ll kill you,” I cried, shaking too hard to get my aim, shooting anyway and going wide.  
  
The man - The Phoenix, I assumed - closed the last of the distance, leaned forward and easily knocked the gun from my still shaking hand. I felt that I was going to vomit as he stared at me, seeming to weigh me up.  
  
Beneath his cocked hat, his jet black hair was swept back to reveal the famous lightning bolt scar, vivid green eyes stared out from behind a black eye-mask. His chin was strong, clean shaved, his lips full and dark as if tainted by berries. He wore a scarlet frock-coat, flared out over the rump of his horse, high collared, trimmed in gold with shining buttons; gold breeches and shining black boots.  
  
It seemed a ridiculously conspicuous get up for our surroundings, for an outlaw at least. But I assumed that perhaps he truly believed he was immortal, as all the rumours - and several failed attempts to bring the man to justice - had it.  
  
“What do you want? I have no gold,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling and to keep my lunch inside my stomach.  
  
The man laughed mirthlessly, pistol trained steadily on me, his eyes narrowed, his stare intense. “I doubt that very much. But not all treasure is made of silver and gold,” he said.  
  
For some reason that irritated me, though I wasn’t sure what he even meant by it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, my voice far stronger this time.  
  
The Phoenix didn’t answer but waved his gun in such a way as to indicate that I should get out of the carriage. I hesitated for a moment, trying to think of some way that this could be avoided, and perhaps, after all, I could offer him the gold and silver secured beneath the carriage in return for my life. It was only the thought of what my father would do to me were to hear of that - my life would not be worth living - that stopped me, and I descended stiffly to the ground.  
  
Curiosity guided my gaze. The thumps I heard earlier must have been the two bandits who had Crabbe and Goyle gagged and bound to a tree, back to back. The driver and his boy were still sitting calmly in their seats, and the Phoenix sent them off, back to my father, once I was clear of the carriage. I wondered if they were in on this or if there was some other reason they were being allowed to go free. Another of the gang was holding the chest of treasure meant for Lord Voldemort, and I was glad I hadn’t bargained with it earlier.  
  
I half expected to be hauled onto a horse and carried away to God only knows where, but one of the other riders - one of the Order - a tall man with a whisp of ginger on his chin and an abundance of freckles, strode over, grabbing hold of my arms and pulling them hard behind me.  
  
I shouted in pain and he made an impatient noise. “Don’t fight and you’ll be alright,” he said.  
  
“Do I seem like I’m fighting to you?” I asked, fury mingling with fear and running away with my tongue.  
  
The man’s grip loosened, but he kept hold of me, shoving me in the direction of the tree that Crabbe and Goyle were tied to. “Just get over there.”  
  
“No, you can’t tie me up.” I pushed back against my captor, meeting a solid wall of flesh. I tried to jerk out of his grasp, but he was strong with big hands that could entirely circle my forearm. He grunted and manhandled me the rest of the way. “You’ll hang for this… don’t.”  
  
Nothing I said would have stopped him of course. I realise that now, but at the time I clung to the idea that I  _could_. After all, as a Malfoy, I had always commanded respect. The only person that would have dared handle me the way that man did was my own father, and he preferred to chastise me with words rather than physical punishment.  
  
I was afraid that I would be blindfolded and I wasn’t sure that they didn’t have a worse fate in store for me than merely tying me to a tree.  
  
My tutor, Professor Snape, had been waylaid by robbers when he was a boy, though he was poorer than a church mouse from what I understood of his childhood. They had suspended him, upside down, from a tree whilst they laughed at his plight. They had cut him down and ridden off in the end. That band - the Marauders, as they called themselves - had ridden with the Order of the Phoenix from time to time. There were rumours that The Phoenix's father had been the leader of the Marauders before he was killed.  
  
Snape had closed up tighter than an oyster around its pearl when I had asked him about it, though I had tried to appear concerned rather than morbidly curious. He had been furious with me, though I wasn’t sure why, and he had sneered at my work and made the most cutting remarks about it, as if it was I who was responsible for what he had been through.  
  
The redhaired man pressed hard on my shoulders and I sank to my knees. I couldn’t look at Crabbe and Goyle, knowing that they must be watching. I pressed my cheek against the rough bark of the tree and willed myself not to cry in front of them. I finally understood why Snape had been so angry with my questioning. I was humiliated, and furious about it.  
  
The man dragged my arms around the tree and bound my wrists together tightly with a length of rough rope. It chafed, but I pulled against it anyway, hoping to loosen it somehow. The pain distracted me from my fear and put the fire of determination in my belly instead.  
  
The sound of footsteps close by drew my attention and I looked up to see that the Phoenix was standing close by, looking down at me.  
  
“Don’t be a fool, you’ll shred yourself to bits,” he said, his voice raised, sounding frustrated.  
  
I glared up at him. “Don’t you dare tell me what I should do, Scarhead. I’m not afraid of you, or your gang of thugs. My father will destroy you.” And then I did cry. It was all a nightmare and I wanted my mother to wake me and soothe me. I pushed my face against my shoulder to hide it from him.  
  
Moments later they were riding away in a thunder of hooves and loud whoops.  
  
I had plenty of time to consider what had happened, before my father’s men arrived to cut us free and ride off in vain search for the Order. I could only have imagined the low voice of the Phoenix, saying that he was sorry it had to be this way.  


 

~*~

  
  
“Draco!” Pansy had flown into my arms and kissed my face as if I was that wretched pug dog of hers.  
  
“Get off me!” I had finally managed to get my hands on her shoulders to push her away. “I’m thrilled you’re so pleased to see me, but please have some decorum, woman.”  
  
Pansy pouted - a terribly unbecoming look on her, accentuating the worst of her features, but her face smoothed out again as she said “come here, darling, let me stroke your hair.”  
  
Emerald the pug huffed and settled down to some peace and quiet, since I was the one being manhandled. Honestly, I had had just about enough of it.  
  
“I thought you were dead,” Pansy said, as I settled down with my head in her lap. Well, she does give awfully good head massages.  
  
“I thought I was going to die,” I replied, realising the truth of it now that the ordeal was over. I still had to face my father, but Mother had earned me a reprieve and I had planned my speech to him whilst I had lain awake in the small hours of the night.  
  
“Where is Theo?” I asked, drifting a little, my body relaxing for the first time since I had left the day before. “I thought he was coming.”  
  
“Oh, him, he chose yesterday to announce his intentions towards Astoria Greengrass,” she said darkly, digging her nails into my scalp a mite too hard. “Not that I’m supposed to say anything to anyone ever. I mean you know, it’s practically started a war and I’m surprised you didn’t know already, actually. Your father is livid.”  
  
I frowned up at the ceiling, thoroughly nauseated at the news. Not that I actually needed her, but Astoria was my safety net. Her father and my father got together and promised us to one another practically at birth. As for Nott: “Bastard! How dare he attempt to steal my thunder!”  
  
Pansy smirked. “They deserve one another, don’t you think?”  
  
“Hah, not likely. Father’s the best chance Greengrass has of getting in with Voldemort. He must be pissing himself at the thought his darling daughter might ruin his carefully arranged plans.”  
  
“Oh come on, Draco, Nott’s father would be just as good for a nothing such as Greengrass. In fact, it would be a far better match. You’re too good for her.”  
  
“Good enough for you, you mean?” I asked, seeing straight through Pansy’s snide remarks, as ever.  
  
In truth Pansy was right, her family was a far better match in wealth and power. But I assumed some dark little deal had been made years ago, and social climbing through whatever means was a compelling enough reason for all manner of odd matches.  
  
“Whatever, there was an agreement, and if it’s broken there will be trouble.”  
  
“I don’t see why you can’t break it off with her.” Her petulant look might have fooled me before, but something had changed -  _I_  had changed - and I understood that the way she behaved masked a deeper wound, though I wasn’t sure if it was love or her desire to become Lady Malfoy.  
  
“Pansy darling, even if I were to break it off with Astoria, I would rather have you as a friend than my wife,” I said, as gently as I could. “I adore you, but…” I didn’t know how to carry on. I didn’t have the words.  
  
Pansy scowled down at me and then she pushed me off her lap, so I landed in a heap on the floor. She stalked to the door, yanking it open, stopping with her hand on the knob.  
  
“Then perhaps I should stop being your friend,” she said and walked out slamming the door behind her.  
  
I knew I couldn’t marry Pansy - I respected her too much to do so. I didn’t want to marry Astoria either, but at least I wouldn’t feel compelled to be faithful, since I barely knew her. I was fairly sure I could do enough to produce an heir with her. After that she would no doubt lose all interest in sex and I would be free to take a lover. Discreetly, of course.  
  
I wondered whether my father would say anything about Astoria’s indiscretion. It would depend on how he wished to deal with the situation. He had always preferred to keep scandal at arm’s length, deflecting and denying, unless it reflected favourably on him.  _Don’t court notoriety, Draco_  - his words.  
  
If that was the case, I would be assumed ignorant by anyone who heard of it. Perhaps I should have been upset by that thought, but if my father thought was in my best interests then there wasn’t much I could do.  
  
*  
An hour or so later Mother came to see me.  
  
“How was Pansy?” she asked.  
  
“She was upset… about my ordeal.”  
  
Mother nodded, but somehow I knew I wasn’t fooling her. “Your father wants to see you, as soon as you are feeling up to it.”  
  
“I’m fine,” I said, quickly. “I can see him now. I could have gone before, I was just waiting to be called.”  
  
Mother stroked my hair away from my face. “He isn’t angry with you, Draco. Crabbe and Goyle told him everything that happened, that you tried to defend yourself, but you were outnumbered and overpowered.”  
  
I had to bite my lip to keep the emotion from overwhelming me at her words. I nodded. “Shall I go now?”  
  
“That would be a good idea.”  
  
I took a moment to smooth my hair back and tie it with a piece of ribbon. I preferred to leave it loose, but I knew it would please my father to have it tied back neatly.  
  
*  
  
I knocked on the door to his study and went inside when he called.  
  
“Sit down, Draco,” he said, turning away from the window to watch me.  
  
In spite of my mother’s words, my mouth was dry and I stumbled over my thanks. I rubbed my sweating palms surreptitiously against the legs of my trousers, then folded them in my lap.  
  
I took a deep breath. “You wanted to see me Father.”  
  
I could tell he was angry. His lips were barely visible, pressed into a thin line, and there was tightness around his eyes. Despite what Mother had said, I wondered if it would be directed at me.  
  
“There has been no trace of the Order found so far. Wherever they went they covered their tracks well.”  
  
I hadn’t expected it to be otherwise, so I just nodded, keeping my expression sombre.  
  
“Lord Voldemort has been informed. He was displeased about the robbery, of course, but now that he has heard of your bravery in facing down ten men, he wishes to come and see you here.”  
  
There was a sudden tightness in my chest that I had to fight against in order to breathe. “My..?”  
  
Father looked at me sharply, cutting off my question. “Crabbe and Goyle managed to be almost eloquent.”  
  
“What did they say?” I asked, looking down at my father’s desk in an effort to avoid his eyes.  
  
“That there were ten men in all, a number of whom overpowered the two of them, tying them to a tree. That you used your pistol against the Phoenix himself, but that he shot it clean out of your hand. That you tried to deflect them from the presence of the gold, but they discovered it anyway, and that you were a gentleman and a credit to the name of Malfoy.”  
  
My cheeks were burning by the time he finished. I glanced up at him. “And the driver? And the boy? What did they say?”  
  
Father’s face fell. “I’m afraid they didn’t make it back,” he said.  
  
I looked up at him in shock. “What? What happened to them? They were… they left before… they were…”  
  
“The carriage was found just outside of Evercreech. They had vanished. A search has been made, but to no avail. I’m afraid it seems as though they may have been followed by some of the Order. Either that or they decided to abandon their duties.”  
  
I stared at him open mouthed. It didn’t make any sense. Why would the Order risk discovery by following them all the way to Evercreech? Why even let them go, only to follow them afterwards? If they were responsible, what had they done with them? Were they keeping them somewhere, alive? If not where were the bodies? If they were going to kill anyone, why them and not me? Or Crabbe and Goyle, for that matter. If the Order had nothing to do with it, why would the driver and boy  _not_  return? Surely that would only make matters worse for them in the long run, when they were found.  
  
My questions were unanswerable, of course. I couldn’t even voice them, and I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that if I did I would not like the answers. I let my gaze fall back to my father’s desk, until I could come up with a question that I could ask.  
  
“What are we going to do?”  
  
Father went back to staring out of the window. “Your mother wishes to throw a ball, in honour of your safe return.”  
  
I rolled my eyes, wondering why the answer to everything was a ball. Not that I disliked the idea - I loved to dance - I just didn’t particularly enjoy the desperation and the gossip-mongers that always seem to rear their ugly heads at those things.  
  
“And to celebrate your engagement to Astoria Greengrass,” he added, after a lengthy pause.  
  
“What?!” I jerked my head up the shock reverberating through my body. The blood was rushing in my ears, drowning out Father’s next words. I struggled through, finally getting myself under control. “I’m sorry Father, I didn’t… I missed what you said.”  
  
He sighed heavily, but turned back to face me. “I said that it made sense to make it official, now you are of age.”  
  
“Barely.” The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. “I mean…” I cast around for a reason. Any reason, to delay what suddenly seemed like a death sentence to me. “Astoria is just a girl. I don’t even know her. I don’t want to get married yet.”  
  
“Draco!” The sharpness of Father’s voice stopped me short. “This is sooner than expected, but you have always known this day would come.” And then he pulled out his ace. “Your mother has already started making the arrangements, you wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”  
  
I shook my head, bowing it in defeat. “When?”  
  
“The ball will be held in a month’s time. As for the wedding, I see no reason to delay it. Obviously it would be nice for Lord Voldemort to give his blessing, but I don’t see why it couldn’t happen before the year is out.”  
  
For one wild, desperate moment I wished that the Phoenix had taken me with him. I wanted to rage and scream and throw a tantrum as if I were a child again, but those days were well and truly behind me.  
  
“Then I am still to take his Lordship’s Mark?” I asked.  
  
“Of course, as soon as possible.  
  
“Yes Father,” I said. Perhaps it was worth it for his genuinely pleased smile.  


 

*

  
  
Lord Voldemort was nothing like I’d imagined. For a start the full head of dark hair was gone - he was completely bald and his skin had a deathly pallor to it. But the worst of it were his eyes, horribly red and bloody with burst vessels, and his nose that seemed eaten away to nothing. I supposed it explained why he chose to stay out of the public gaze, and the heavy, hooded cloaks he wore when he did venture outside. He seemed ancient and frail in my eyes.  
  
In spite of what I regarded with ill concealed horror as his weaknesses, his grasp was painfully strong, when he took my hand. My skin crawled with revulsion at the long, bony fingers and pointed nails that wrapped around my hand. He peered at me and I forced myself to return his gaze.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, he laughed. “You are, indeed, a brave boy.”  
  
In spite of everything, I felt myself flush with pride. “Thank you, my Lord.”  
  
“Yes, I think you are ready. Are you willing to swear your allegiance to me?”  
  
“Yes, my Lord,” I said, even though I suddenly had a million questions buzzing around my head for attention. I didn’t dare ask any of them anyway.  
  
He gave me a horrifying parody of a smile, then bent his head to my forearm. I imagined for a moment that he would kiss my hand. Then the pain flared, sharp and bright. I tried to pull away, but he bit deeper. Breaking the flesh. I could feel the blood spilling from the wound.  
  
I screamed and he laughed at me, blood smeared across his chin. Pain screamed through my arm. My head spun, and I tried to pull my arm away again, tearing my skin.  
  
It must have been the shock: darkness seemed to press in on me from all sides, and then I passed out.  
  
I remember very little about the following hours. Snatches of it remain… the very worst moments when he threatened my family’s lives if I did not obey him. He reinforced his will by pressing into the wound upon my arm with his talons.  
  
“Do you understand, boy?” he asked at last.  
  
And all I could do was nod my head, unable to look at him, tears spotting the floor as they ran off the end of my nose.  
  
He caressed my hair, his hand smoothing down and squeezing the back of my neck, saying “good”.  
  
All I wished was that it could be over. And finally it was.  
  
*  
  
Upon my return it felt as though I were in exile from the rest of the house. Dobby, my personal servant, was the only one I saw. He cleaned and wrapped my arm, and I shouted at him in lieu of crying for my mother.  
  
It was not knowing that frightened me the most. Not understanding. I knew that the way he had bitten me meant something. I knew that my father had his own mark, that I had never seen. I had assumed that taking Voldemort’s Mark was something more akin to joining any other organisation - with perhaps some kind of insignia… not whatever this was.  
  
Perhaps there was nothing to understand. Perhaps he was a raving lunatic.  
  
I wondered why my father had sent me there without any indication of what was to happen. Well, perhaps I did understand that. I can’t imagine for a moment that I would have agreed to it had I known. As if that would have saved me.  
  
A strange thing happened to me in the days that followed. The Mark itched as it healed. Sometimes I believed that it burned. I felt Lord Voldemort’s presence there with me, and sometimes in the dark and quiet of the night I had to take a candle to the darkest corners just to check. As if he was watching me constantly. I wished to remove my own arm, to be free of him. But how could I be sure that all of my blood wasn’t tainted with his poison already? Besides, the idea frightened me as much as I thought of it. What if he found out?  
  
Finally Father came to my room, booting Dobby out.  
  
He glanced at my bandaged forearm, a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Distaste? Irritation? I could not interpret it.  
  
“You are well,” he said. I think it might have been a question, but the way he said it sounded more like a statement of fact. I didn’t answer. It was unnecessary. “Your engagement is going to be announced at the Yule Ball. A double celebration, as it were.”  
  
I blanched at his words. I'd almost forgotten about the engagement. The original date had come and gone without a word. “Is that - I mean won’t it be overshadowed?” I was clutching at straws, and Father gave me a stern look the brooked no argument.  
  
“You will do as you are told, Draco. I want you to be ready. I have enlisted a tutor to brush up on your dancing. You will be expected to take the first dance with your bride-to-be. Your mother and I will then join you, as will Astoria’s parents, and so on.”  
  
Another time I might have pushed Father about it, but this was not one of those times. He had made his decision and going against him would only force him to mete out some punishment that I did not feel willing or able to take.  


 

*

  
  
By the time the ball arrived, I was almost sick with the pomp and ceremony, despite it being one of my favourite days of the year. It was the event of the season, as The Prophet reported, though it had been relegated to its proper place in the society pages rather than the front due to the latest attack by The Order. Father was silently fuming, I could tell, and even Mother was a little stiffer than usual. I sighed and huffed, as if I could care less. I had more than enough to deal with, knowing that my engagement was going to become public that very night.  
  
I watched as the multitude of carriages began arriving, spilling their gaudily attired occupants.  
  
I studied the various costumes, gratified to notice that no-one outshone me. Looking back I am quite sure my father ensured that in advance. But then I was still a naive boy in some ways.  
  
I took a final look in the mirror and made my way downstairs.  
  
Mother and Father were dressed in pure white, adorned with peacock feathers from our own birds. They looked quite startling in the midst of the cacophony of colour and I almost wished that I could join them. But it was my night and I was nothing less than a dragon prince, in dark green robes that flowed and dazzled with precious stones whenever I moved. And you can be sure I did know how to move to make the most of it. I liked the way my trousers clung to my backside and legs in a way that would have been obscene without the robe.  
  
My princess (how I shuddered to think of her in that way) was dressed to compliment me. I was pleased to see the green suited her as well.  
  
Astoria was nervous. I felt her tremble as the notes of the first dance began to flow and I led her onto the floor. She didn't relax at all as I led her, fighting me rather than easing into it.  
  
"What's wrong?" I hissed at her. "You're ruining it."  
  
"As if I care!" she shot back. "I don't want to marry you. I'm in love with Theo."  
  
"That makes two of us. I mean I don't want to marry you either."  
  
She glared at me and then I laughed. It was funny. Ridiculous even. "Perhaps this isn't such a bad idea after all. We could help one another out."  
  
I let that thought settle in her mind for a moment. Slowly a tentative smile tugged at the corners of her lips and I found myself beginning to like her.  
  
"I like the sound of that," she said.  
  
I whirled her so that her dress and cape billowed out, glittering in the candlelight to a chorus of  _oooooohh_ s. Her face lit up.  
  
"You see, being married to me wouldn't be all bad," I said smugly.  
  
"As long as your mother doesn't insist on directing every single thing I do," she said darkly.  
  
"I promise I will keep her from meddling in your affairs, whatever they are. And your father?" I asked, casting a glance over to where he and Astoria's mother were dancing, close by, his gaze trained on me.  
  
"He won't trouble you if I'm happy. And if your father comes through on his promise."  
  
My hackles rose, but I bit back a retort and nodded. "My father always keeps his word."  
  
"Alright. Then kiss me," she said. "We had better give them something to remember."  
  
We slowed down and I drew closer. She was beautiful and she had green eyes, but they were pale as ice. I could feel every eye on us as I tilted her chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. She deepened it, pushing her tongue inside my mouth in a way that shocked me and drew some scandalised gasps. I couldn't help but feel a rush of jealousy that she must have learned that from Theo - unless they gave women lessons in this, when they were doing whatever they were doing behind closed doors - and embarrassment that I must seem so... inexperienced to her. I was supposed to be kissing her back, but I was out of my depth.  
  
I looked up to find Pansy's furious eyes glaring daggers at us both. She turned and pushed her way through the crowd and I sighed and looked back at Astoria.  
  
There was sympathy in her eyes and I realised that she had completely misinterpreted the situation. "Do you want to go to her?" she asked.  
  
"I'd better," I said.  
  
Of course I couldn't just run after Pansy. I held out my arm to Astoria and we left the floor as if we had just decided to go and take some refreshment. I offered her a glass of punch, taking a fortifying drink for myself - I certainly needed it.  
  
Astoria smiled brightly. "I'd like to go and speak to my friends, Draco dear," she said loudly.  
  
"Wonderful idea. I think I am going to get some fresh air," I replied, equally loudly.  
  
"I'll see you in a little while, then, darling." And Astoria disappeared into the bright crowd, drawing most of the looks along with her.  
  
I had no idea where Pansy had gone, but I headed out into the gardens on impulse.  
  
It was a clear night, the temperature must have been close to freezing and I pulled my cloak tight around me. It was a mistake. She wouldn't be out here. Even if she was sulking, Pansy would be surrounded by luxury and warmth. Sensible woman.  
  
I had turned to go back inside when a hand shot out, covering my mouth, at the same time as another grasped my wrist and pulled me into one of the many arbours around the grounds.  
  
It was a woman, surprisingly enough. Or maybe not surprisingly. I wasn't sure any more. No-one was ever as I expected them to be, I was finding out. Not Pansy though.  
  
This one had long dark hair, gathered elegantly to one side and tumbling down the side of her neck. Her dress was all reds and golds, cut to a slender shape, and trailing off into a train, that called to mind long tail feathers. I must admit I was impressed, and I couldn't recall having seen her arrive.  
  
"What the devil do you think you are doing?" I said, too surprised to just step away and leave what was obviously one of my admirers wanting to get a moment alone with me.  
  
"I was hoping to run into you," she said. Her voice was deeper than I expected. Smooth and velvety. It made me shiver a little.  
  
"I see. You do realise that this is my engagement party? I am no longer free, and my bride-to-be would be most displeased to find me here with you. I'm sure you're lovely, you'll find another man."  
  
She laughed, a full blooded chuckle.  
  
I stepped back. "If you don't mind, I have to-"  
  
She tightened her hand around my wrist. "You don't understand," she said.  
  
She removed her wig and my knees turned to water. It was the Phoenix, in the flesh. His cheeks and nose pink, his eyes shining with the cold and most likely a good deal of amusement at my surprise.  
  
I don't know why I didn't call for help. There might have been someone else out there. As it was I struggled to get free of him, only to have him grab both my wrists and tug me towards him. He turned me, holding me against him both my arms pinned down against my waist.  
  
"Why are you here?" I demanded. "You can't possibly think you'd get past the doors without an invitation."  
  
"I already have. That was quite a kiss Miss Greengrass bestowed upon you."  
  
I felt my cheeks heat up. "My future wife."  
  
"Such a shame you aren't in love."  
  
I twisted round to look at him out of the corner of my eye. "I don't see how it's any of your business, but of course we are. We are very much in love. Which you would know if you really saw the kiss from inside the ballroom, rather than out here, lurking in the bushes."  
  
"I was there and I know what I saw," he retorted. "You make me sick, throwing these ridiculous parties to celebrate a sham of a marriage. What a waste."  
  
“What do you care?” I asked, trying to twist round so that I could give him the full force of my glare.  
  
“Look around you, Malfoy,” he spat. “Not everyone lives like this.”  
  
I shook my head. “No, but at least we don't steal for it.”  
  
"You're a blinkered fool," he said the disgust clear in his voice.  
  
I tried to wriggle out of his grasp again, infuriated, but he was strong, though he was no bigger than me. And there was something quite... thrilling about being held this way that I didn't understand completely.  
  
"What are you going to do? Kidnap me?"  
  
"I might," he said.  
  
I couldn't think of a pithy answer to that, but I didn't believe he would drag me away from the party anyway. Not with the amount of people there. "Why are you here?" I asked, sincerely.  
  
"I heard about the party of the century," he said, “and I couldn’t miss it.”  
  
“Wanted to see what you were missing out on?” I asked, forcing a smirk.  
  
He huffed. “You wouldn’t understand, you’re nothing but a spoilt brat.”  
  
"You're at my engagement party. In my home. I think you should leave. I only have to shout and the servants will come running."  
  
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," he said darkly.  
  
I shivered, cold and suddenly afraid. "Why?"  
  
"Do you honestly want to put all your trust in people you treat with such contempt?"  
  
He had managed to silence me.  
  
He loosened his hold on me, pushing me away from him. For some reason the experience had left me with the feeling that he would rather die than hurt me. It was a foolishly dangerous assumption to make, but I certainly felt safer with him than I did being in Lord Voldemort’s presence.  
  
"I have to go,” he said. “Don't give me away, eh?"  
  
I found myself shaking my head, staring at him with wide eyes. He grinned wildly and my stomach flipped. It was madness. I mentally berated myself, listing reasons that I could not possibly be attracted to such an arrogant bastard.  
  
It did not work. And I still had no idea why he was there or why he had made his presence known to me.  


 

*

  
  
The third time my path crossed with that of the Phoenix and his gang, I was a married man and I felt as though the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Our attempts to consummate the marriage had been… unsuccessful. A damned shambles. It could make me wilt just to think of what lay beneath that frilly exterior.  
  
My nerves were utterly frayed from the constant demands of my parents and hers, wondering when they were going to have news of a new arrival, and my wife’s unexpected pragmatism in the face of my failure to perform. That above all else shamed me. How could she be so understanding? I supposed the fact that she was carrying on her affair with Theodore Nott helped matters.  
  
And yet there was nothing wrong with me. I had woken from enough heated dreams, sticky with my own release, to know that it was nothing physical that ailed me. And all too often I remembered my dreams. Or at least the fact that they were haunted by a pair of bright green eyes that seemed to taunt me, even as their owner touched me in a way that brought an almost excruciating kind of pleasure to me.  
  
I was busy drowning in my own thoughts when the carriage I was riding in jolted to a halt, throwing me from my seat.  
  
I had time to pull myself up, irritation heating my blood, when the door was yanked open and I was face to face with those green eyes once more.  
  
“Oh not you again,” I groaned, touching my cheek, which felt tender, and wondering if I would have a bruise there.  
  
The man chuckled and reached out to grip my arm.  
  
I sighed, ignoring the inappropriate twin sensations of fear and excitement that churned my stomach at the strength of his grip. “Do we have to do this? Take my money, I do not care, just get it over with and let me be.”  
  
“I told you once before, not all treasure is silver and gold,” the Phoenix said, in what seemed to be an amused tone. He grasped a handful of my hair and tugged on it.  
  
“What? Are you saying you want my hair? Is this some kind of a joke? You preposterous fiend.”  
  
The man really did laugh then. “Preposterous fiend?! What a marvellous title. I think I’ll keep it. And no, I don’t want your hair, I just meant that this particular shade marks you out. Anyone who sees you knows that you are a Malfoy, and that is worth more than all the gold in the world.”  
  
I blinked at him, wondering if he was insulting me or complimenting me. My nerves were fluttering, churning my stomach with something that I wished I could call anxiety, but held far more in common with attraction. Perhaps he was merely taunting me. However, my vanity and my lust were tweaked, and my cock hardened in a way it hadn’t lately other than in dreams. I did my best not to gasp, but it did me no good.  
  
“Do what you will, I am needed at my father’s house. So please, take my money and let me go.” I tried again.  
  
“I don’t want your money, I need you.”  
  
I had a shameful urge to throw myself upon him, like a wanton harlot, but I came to my senses, struggling against him, pulling my free hand back to throw a punch. Unfortunately I had never been trained in hand to hand combat, Father putting far more stock in the use of pistols, rapiers and swords. I hesitated, and he brought his other hand up to catch mine.  
  
I struggled fruitlessly against him, getting more and more aroused with each moment.  
  
“Stop it!” he cried, clearly agitated by my behaviour.  
  
For a moment I did, and his grip slackened. It was enough for me to twist my hands free and shove him backwards. “What are you going to do about it?” I yelled into his shocked face. I pushed him again, keeping him stumbling and unable to get back his upper hand. “Well?”  
  
And then I was dragged backwards so fast my feet left the ground.  
  
“I’ll kill you even if he won’t.” It was the ginger haired man, leaning in and speaking low and dangerous in my ear.  
  
“How sweet,” I replied, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “Does he know how much you care?” The man blushed brightly, and I laughed, though somewhat shakily. “No? What a shame.”  
  
“Shut up, Malfoy!” the red haired, now red-faced, man shouted.  
  
The Phoenix came over, laying a hand on his arm, quietening him down. “Let me,” he said.  
  
The red-haired man held me while the Phoenix bound my wrists. His green eyes burned into mine. I hardly breathed, keeping my eyes averted, my chin raised in what I hoped seemed a show of defiance.  
  
Many things went through my mind, most of them centered around the question of why I was having the reaction I was having to him.  
  
I had become accustomed to the idea of finding men attractive, but this was intolerable. He was a filthy low life, an outlaw. He was everything my family was fighting against. How could I possibly find that attractive. Perhaps I had read Robin Hood too many times.  
  
Also he had no sense of decorum in his dress. That less could sometimes be more. If I were an outlaw I would be entirely outfitted in black, with just a few hints of silver to add a little to the drama of it. I tried to imagine the Phoenix all in black and frowned when I realised that I couldn't. He actually suited that gaudy scheme of his.  
  
I was pulled from my reverie, as I was hoisted up in front of The Phoenix, who dug his pistol into my side the moment I was seated. “Am I going to have a problem with you?” I shook my head quickly.  
  
Then The Phoenix shouted “Away, Thunderbolt,” and I gripped on with my legs to avoid being flung off the damn thing. Then an arm came around, gripping me tightly, and in spite of myself I leaned back against the firm, strong body behind.  
  
I tried to take note of landmarks, anything that might help lead back to The Order’s lair, but we were going too fast, and everything looked the same to me. Evening was drawing in and the trees loomed closer, casting dark shadows around us. I was always a good rider, having learnt to ride as soon as I walked, but even I wasn’t sure I could go so fast through such a narrow passage.  
  
My thoughts wandered to my father, and I knew he would be furious. Not just with the Phoenix, but with me. This was the third time. No, the second that he knew of, I had never told another soul about the last time we had met. Unsurprisingly. Still, I didn't think he would be happy that I had been abducted this time. And it was dawning on me that I had been most foolish in my assumptions that the Phoenix didn't want to kill me. What if he wanted to torture me? What if he couldn't stop that bloodthirsty ginger thug of his from doing either? Or both.  
  
My fear sharpened my resolve to take in everything and bring back something that could help lead to the Phoenix, should I live to return to my father's house. Something that wasn’t about how he was so warm and strong, and how he smelled of the summer sun beating down on a meadow, preferably.  
  
My eyes were drooping closed, my body sagging with fatigue by the time The Phoenix slowed his horse to a trot. Startled, I sat up straighter, trying to peer through the gloom. It was pointless, I didn’t even recognise one tree from another, and for all I knew they could have been travelling round in circles to throw me off the track.  
  
The other men in The Order drew closer, pulling into line behind us. Looking ahead, I saw a place where several roads met. I didn't know it, and I wasn't sure I could lead anyone back this way, but perhaps it was distinctive enough to be recognisable to someone who knew the roads better.  
  
As we got closer the trees seemed to shift in a strange way, revealing another path, a long dark tunnel of trees that I hadn't noticed before. We turned onto the new path. A few moments later we were in a clearing. The Phoenix pulled his ride to a halt with a “woah, Thunderbolt.”  
  
Though I would never have admitted as much out loud, the horse was as fine as any in my father’s stables, and I wanted to lie my face against its hot flank and feel its heavy breaths and the shudder of well used muscles. But it was all I could do to keep upright, as I was manhandled from where I sat and set on shaking legs upon the ground.  
  
Perhaps it was tiredness that took a hold of my tongue and informed the gathered bandits “when my father hears of this he will be furious. You will all hang.” Whatever it was, I wished it would shut up. There was not much sense in annoying them, since they clearly had the upper hand. At least for the time being.  
  
One of the other bandits grabbed me by the arm and led me over to what appeared to be a firepit, though there was no fire burning. He pushed me down onto a fallen log.  
  
I stared at the man, taking in every detail of him that I could see. He removed his hat to reveal a mass of bright red hair to go with the abundance of freckles on every bare patch of skin. It wasn’t the red-haired man I had seen before, this one was shorter, more stocky. Just as powerful, though.  
  
He handled me roughly again and I winced, pulling away from him.  
  
“Alright, hold still and I’ll untie you. Unless you want to stay like that for the night.”  
  
I glared at him, showing that he didn’t scare me, but held my hands up to be untied. “Isn’t it rather foolish to untie a hostage?” I asked, wondering yet again why I couldn’t just keep my big mouth shut.  
  
The man snorted in amusement. “Yeah, if you want to take your chances finding your way to the nearest village.” He patted me down, quickly finding the knife secreted in my boot, tucking it into his own belt with a grin. “Or maybe you want to take on all of us with a piddly little knife.”  
  
I folded my arms across his chest and lifted my chin, sniffing in disgust, as though he had suggested something utterly beneath me, rather than the one tiny glimmer of hope I’d been clinging to.  
  
The red-haired man gave me a look that showed he wasn’t fooled and walked off, clapping his comrades on the arms.  
  
My next shock came as I realised that some of the men in this gang were, in fact, women.  
  
One bushy-haired and buck toothed, certainly too plain to be suitable for marriage, if she were a lady, but being a commoner that seemed of little consequence. Still the lifestyle seemed to suit her, since her eyes gleamed with the thrill of the ride.  
  
Another as red-haired as the man who had untied me. In fact looking around the camp I noticed that there were rather a lot of redheads - too many for it to be mere coincidence.  
  
There was also a small, dreamy looking fair-haired woman I couldn’t possibly imagine taking part in a hold-up, except for the fact that she obviously just had. And with a shock I realised that she was someone I knew. Or rather, her father… at least he had been someone, though he had fallen on hard times of late, being somewhat of a joke when he had claimed that his dead wife still spoke to him and that fairies danced at the bottom of his garden.  
  
It finally started to sink in: I, Draco Malfoy, son and heir of one of the most noble and richest families in the land, had been abducted, presumably for a ransom, by the notorious band of outlaws known as The Order of the Phoenix. The Phoenix himself had vanished, though I looked around for him.  
  
A few of the bandits gathered around the pit, starting the fire and preparing meat for a stew. I could only hope then that wherever we were, my father’s men would be able to see the fire, or smell the stew and come to investigate.  
  
If my father had indeed sent out a search party for me.  
  
The men - and women - of the Order were soon well oiled and wild, and if they cared not that they could be heard then I had to believe we were too far from anyone to make a difference. Though there was always a chance of a traveller on the road, perhaps.  
  
None of them seemed to be watching me, but the moment I rose from my perch every eye turned, sharp and keen as the most sober of Monks. I stretched, yawned and ambled to the edge of the clearing, where the trees grew thicker and the darkness ate away the flicker of firelight.  
  
“Going somewhere?” A disembodied voice made me jump, until my eyes adjusted to the darkness, making out the shape of a man. The light from the fire glinted off his spectacles and I relaxed. Not the Phoenix then. The man’s clothes were far too big for him, as if borrowed from a much larger person - perhaps an older brother, it made him look pathetic and almost scrawny, though he was more wiry. As for his hair, it looked as though he had been sleeping upside down in a tree for a year and some birds had nested in it.  
  
He could have been no older than I, and unable to look me in the eye, with an annoying habit of tugging at his forelock, as if he expected it to spring up and join the rest of its unruly friends sticking out at every angle on his head. I wanted to smack his hand away, but I didn't quite dare.  
  
“Unless you wish me to piss on your boots, you’ll stand aside,” I drawled in my best impression of my father’s haughty tone.  
  
The man stood aside, but then proceeded to trail along behind me.  
  
“I thought there was no point in trying to escape,” I said, irritated. “If that’s the case there is no need for you to follow me all over the forest.”  
  
The man shrugged. “No harm in being careful. You wouldn’t be the first one who tried it.”  
  
Despite the fact he seemed innocuous enough, I had to imagine the man as one of Father’s servants, rather than a member of a violent gang of bandits, before my bladder would unclench enough for me to piss, the relief tremendous as the torrent of it spattered against low growing foliage.  
  
“Are you a pervert?” I asked, tucking myself away afterwards.  
  
“What? No!” The man blushed and I smirked, finally beginning to feel a little bit more like myself.  
  
“So what do you know about him, then? The Phoenix. Is it really true that he has escaped the hangman’s noose twice?”  
  
The man frowned. “It’s true,” he said hesitantly. “But he had help.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“You don’t think the Order would leave him? We live and die together,” he said, earnestly. “But I don’t suppose someone like you would understand that.”  
  
My hackles rose at that and I turned to the man, who quickly looked away.  
  
“How dare you presume to know anything about me,” I said, and stalked off, back towards the rowdy merriment of the camp and the fire and the woman with long pale hair. So out of place among them all, smiling beatifically and offering me a goblet of something better than the rough beer I had been drinking.  
  
I caught sight of the man again, standing near the redheaded man and the bushy-haired woman, talking amongst themselves.  
  
Nobody seemed troubled by the disappearance of The Phoenix, and I assumed it was usual for him. Perhaps he had a woman waiting for his return. That thought did not sit well with me, and I imagined instead that he must be seeing to the horses.  
  
I sat and watched them all for a while, trying to count them but they kept moving about, some dancing, throwing me off, and one split off into two - identical redheaded devils who laughed like maniacs and fired their pistols in the air.  
  
The night wore on and, exhausted and woozy with sleep and drink, I bedded down on the rough earth beside the fire, pulling my coat across me in lieu of a blanket. I nodded off to a rowdy rendition of some drinking song.  
  
The next morning my head was aching so fiercely I feared that a small creature had managed to burrow its way in, during the night.  
  
The clearing was still in near darkness, so it had not yet reached dawn. The fire had died down to mere embers at the centre. I had migrated towards it, so that I found myself lying in the ashes.  
  
Though it was early, there were people talking in hushed voices, so low I couldn’t tell how many.  
  
I rolled over, clumsily knocking into a body sleeping nearby, stumbling to my feet before they could fully wake and take offence.  
  
Several things happened at once. My stomach lurched and expelled its contents in a steaming heap on the ground, a small ugly thing that might have been a cat or a dog scurried over and began lapping it up, turning my stomach over again, and a shrill voice called “Crookshanks, no!”  
  
I kicked out at the creature and this time the voice screeched. “Leave him alone, you brute!” And then I was set upon by both the creature and the bushy-haired woman.  
  
“Get off me you filthy witch,” I cried, flailing my arms about to prevent her getting hold of me.  
  
She landed a lucky punch that sent me flying, the backs of my legs hitting the fallen tree, sending me tumbling onto my backside.  
  
“How dare you!” she yelled.  
  
“Me? I’m bleeding! Look, your beast scratched me.” I pulled up my trouser leg to show her.  
  
“Well you kicked him, what did you expect?”  
  
I wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “Our animals are better trained than that.”  
  
“You mean you kick them and they cower,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest and looking at me as if she had somehow won. I really did not like her at all. Self-righteous… I’d heard of these types of course. The ones who wanted to treat animals as though they were human.  
  
“They know not to get into the way of a boot,” I replied, holding my hand out to her. “Now help me up.”  
  
The dreadful woman raised an eyebrow at me and smirked. “I know not to get in the way of that hand.” And she turned on her heel and sauntered away, the beast following at her heels.  
  
Since they obviously didn’t intend to kill me, I didn’t see any need to tread carefully from that moment on. I kicked the foot of the sleeping body I had almost fallen over earlier as I passed.  
  
I pissed in the woods and then went in search of the camp’s water source, so that I could bathe away the filth of the previous day, not caring if I was followed or not.  
  
I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, too irritated at what had just happened to notice anything until it was impossible to miss the very naked man standing by the very river I was looking for.  
  
I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. He wasn’t the only naked man I had ever seen, but it was a close thing. I don’t suppose one generally counts ones father in these things - though there had been a garden hand I had taken a liking to, particularly when he had taken to going shirtless in the summer. He hadn’t lasted long, unfortunately.  
  
It was the man from the other day, I realised, though he didn't seem so pathetic without his clothes on. They lay in a messy heap on the ground, his spectacles resting on the top, glinting in the early morning sun.  
  
He was squatting by the river, washing himself very thoroughly. As I watched he cupped a handful of water and sluiced it under one of his armpits. His hair was already wet, hanging in rats tails and plastered to his face. Rivulets of water ran down his smooth back and his pale arse. I had to duck behind a tree when I couldn’t contain myself any longer.  
  
I hid while he dressed and shook out his hair - little wonder he looked so unkempt. Once he had departed - passing close enough to my hiding place for me to have reached out and touched him, should I have wished - I took my own turn at the river’s edge.  
  
I was interrupted by one of the red-haired ones. This one tall and well built, with a vicious looking scar across his face.  
  
“Come on, Malfoy, time for breakfast,” he said.  
  
I tried not to think about how he had known to find me there. I made him wait, smoothing down my hair until I couldn’t feel a single one out of place. Strangely he didn’t seem put out by it. More amused, to judge from his expression.  
  
I followed him back to the camp, strangely subdued by his strange treatment of me. I felt like I had as a child, when my father had reprimanded me without even raising his voice.  
  
The camp was fully awake by the time we got back. That bespectacled man was sitting and laughing with some of the others. I kept catching myself glancing over trying to reconcile the body I had seen with how he appeared clothed.  
  
Luna brought me a breakfast of sorts, some strange shrivelled berries that I thought might be poisonous until she ate a handful of them herself.  
  
“What’s your name?” I asked, popping a berry in my mouth - despite its looks it tasted quite sweet.  
  
“Luna,” she replied.  
  
I stared at her for a moment.  
  
“And you’re Draco Malfoy. I came to one of your parties you know.”  
  
“You did?” I didn’t remember that at all.  
  
“Oh yes, you and your friend Pansy locked me in the dungeon.”  
  
Oh. “That was you? I had no idea.”  
  
She smiled as if it were a fond memory to her. Clearly as mad as her dear old father. Perhaps it wasn’t his wife’s death that had sent him off the rails, maybe it was something in the water. Whatever it was they had clearly both been imbibing.  
  
“I forgive you,” she said.  
  
I choked on a berry. “You forgive me?! Do you think I’m going to forgive you for this when I get out of here?”  
  
She stroked my hair and I almost felt my mother’s touch in it. My throat constricted and my eyes stung, as something so simple brought me close to home, just for a moment. And then she smiled and got up, leaving me sitting there, wondering what had just happened.  
  
Over the next few days I learnt all their names. It was unsettling, though they treated me as well as I could expect. But I still did not know why I was there.  
  
For all of that I was unexpectedly contented. I didn't long for home the way I had should. The weight seemed to slip from my shoulders. I missed my mother and Pansy, of course, and even Astoria in a way. I did not miss the creeping sensation of being always watched, weighed and measured. Or the feeling of being less than perfect in my father's eyes.  
  
The bespectacled man, whom I learned was called Harry, spent a lot of time talking to me. It infuriated me at first, but then I began to enjoy the feeling - knowing he would seek me out at some point during the day just to speak to me. He didn't ask about my life, which was just as well or I would have become suspicious.  
  
He never looked me in the eye. Sometimes I would catch him looking at me from afar. As soon as I caught him, he would look away again.  
  
I thought about grabbing his face and forcing him to look at me, but with so many others, all bandits, all armed, I didn't dare.  
  
I began to get a little thrill whenever I caught him glancing over. It was strange. I didn't think he was my type at all. Nothing about him fit my image of the man I wanted to be with. Though that man had been absent since the day we arrived. I wondered where on earth he was, but came to the conclusion that he must have a woman or perhaps several women that he was visiting. The only reason I didn’t consider a man for him was because of how that made my guts twist with jealousy.  
  
  
Perhaps some of the more outrageous rumours were true and he was a member of the aristocracy with a fetish for giving money away. Perhaps more than he could afford.  
  
I did not like the redhaired ones at all. Ron, the youngest of the men was consistently hostile, the identical ones, Fred and George, were clearly mad and thoroughly irritating, spending all their spare time playing tricks on everyone. The older two, Bill and Charlie were big and strong and silent and... alright they were not entirely unattractive. But they all had that bright red hair and so many freckles. Plus for all the money they had stolen, their outfits were dreadful, threadbare and obviously repaired any number of times.  
  
It did strike me that perhaps if the Phoenix was keeping the loot from them that they could be turned.  
  
Somehow, despite being as far from my ideal as it was possible to be - without being a woman - Harry began to invade my every waking thought.  
  
I began to go to the river in the hopes of catching him there again, where it was at least semi-private.  
  
On the fifth day he caught me.  
  
I had been swimming, pondering over whether, if I followed the river, it would bring me out somewhere that I could get word to my parents. They must have been frantic with worry by then, I thought.  
  
Afterwards, I crawled up onto the bank and dozed off in the sun.  
  
I woke, jerking out of my sleep, as a shadow fell across me.  
  
He was haloed by the brightness of the sun, so I could only see him in silhouette. But I could tell he was staring right into my eyes. I squinted and tried to get a better look at him, sitting up, resting my weight on my elbows.  
  
"I thought you were dead," he said in a flat voice.  
  
"Charming," I replied. "I was just enjoying the sun, until you got in the way."  
  
  
"I think you should cover up, you've gone very pink."  
  
I looked down at myself. My skin felt tight and uncomfortable and I had a pounding head. But I didn't want to do as he said.  
  
"I'm going for another swim. Join me if you wish."  
  
Harry sighed and sat down next to me, his arms hugging his legs.  
  
I sat up and my head span. For a moment I thought I was going to be sick.  
  
Gathering all the self-control I could muster, I said. "Actually, I am rather bored. I think I'm going to go back to the camp."  
  
Harry scrambled to his feet. "I'll come with you," he said.  
  
I was annoyed. Mainly because my attempt at seduction had been ruined. But also because I was already in pain, and from bitter experience I knew it would get worse before it got better.  
  
I dressed silently, wondering if Harry had noticed my arm, and walked back to camp trying not to let on how much it hurt.  
  
*  
  
The next morning there was no concealing my discomfort. I could barely move without wincing.  
  
I took little notice of what was going on about me as I lay in misery on the unforgiving dirt floor, feeling every little twig and stone digging into me.  
  
Luna startled me, squatting down beside me, and Harry joined us too.  
  
"Can I see," she asked.  
  
"No you can't," I said, trying to pull away and groaning at the feel of my shirt rubbing against my skin as though it were made of coarse sackcloth rather than finely woven silk.  
  
She didn't seem to mind that I didn't want to show her. She merely asked "do you have any blisters?"  
  
I looked down at my clothed body. Not as far as I knew. I pulled my shirt out and looked down at my very red skin.  
  
"No blisters. Is that good?"  
  
She nodded, smiling the dreamy smile I had become familiar with and I breathed a sigh of relief. "You should keep it cool and put some of this on." She placed a jar of some slimy looking goo down on the ground. "And drink water. It's very good for you."  
  
I lifted the jar to my nose and sniffed. The contents were pungent though not entirely unpleasant.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It's a secret," Luna said.  
  
"Oh. Is it poisonous?"  
  
"No, but I wouldn’t eat it."  
  
"Alright, then."  
  
I dabbed my finger into the pot. The stuff felt cool and slippery and I rather liked the idea of smoothing it over my sore skin.  
  
Luna drifted off, leaving me to it. But Harry was still sitting next to me, staring at the jar of whateveritwas.  
  
"Go away," I said, turning my back to him.  
  
He started to get up then stopped. "Um, maybe I could help?"  
  
I looked back at him, unsure what exactly he was offering. That's when I saw that his eyes were incredibly green. An unmistakable shade.  
  
His eyes widened and he looked away, but it was too late.  
  
I looked around at everyone else in the camp. The red-haired ones had all gone off together somewhere, so it was fairly quiet that day.  
  
"I take it I'm the only one that didn't know," I said, the sting of it gave my voice a sharp edge. I couldn't say why I was feeling hurt rather than gleeful about my newfound knowledge.  
  
He sat back down. "Yes," he said eventually.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you’re not one of us... yet. I want you to stay, but not because of  _him_."  
  
I looked at him again. Now that I had seen him for who he was I felt ridiculous for not having realised it sooner. His mannerisms, his dress, his hair, even the way he spoke were different. And yet it was clear that Harry and the Phoenix were one in the same.  
  
"You speak about the Phoenix as if he's someone completely separate from yourself."  
  
He shrugged. "He is. I put on a costume and I become someone else. It's useful."  
  
I mulled that over. "Why?"  
  
"Why do I put on the costume?"  
  
I sighed. "No, why did you take it off? Why do you want me to stay?"  
  
He shrugged again. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."  
  
"A good idea?! You do know who I am? You realise that my father will be having the entire country scoured. Sooner or later they will find us. The longer you keep me here, the closer we get to that moment."  
  
He shook his head. "They won't find us here."  
  
I frowned, wondering how he could be so sanguine. My father and all of his men would have little difficulty, particularly if Lord Voldemort had sent his men to join in the search, which I assumed he would have.  
  
"You'd be a fool to count on that," I said.  
  
He didn't reply to that, but changed the subject back to my discomfort, which I had almost managed to forget.  
  
"So, do you want me to put some of that on?"  
  
I looked at the others, sitting around talking and getting on with the many chores of the camp.  
  
"I'm not doing it here." It wasn't exactly an invitation. I stood up, wincing and feeling terribly sorry for myself. Harry stood up as well, walking with me as I headed out of camp.  
  
By the time we got to the river, I was about ready to throw myself in and drown.  
  
Harry gave me an odd sort of look that I could not interpret, and then he said. "Maybe you should wash first." Accompanying his words with a blush.  
  
The breeze shifted, washing over me, lifting the loose tails of my shirt away from my skin and caressing me with intent. There was something strange about this place. It wasn’t the first time I had felt it, but as before I pushed it away as a figment of my overactive imagination.  
  
I pulled my shirt off over my head, discarding it, and pushed down my trousers and undergarments. It occurred to me that none of my clothes had been washed in almost a week. I wrinkled my nose, wondering who cleaned the Order's clothes. Someone must or they would stink to high heaven.  
  
I kicked my clothes into a pile and slipped carefully into the river, enjoying the blissful relief of the cool water against my sore skin.  
  
I hadn't been paying attention, though I wished I had when Harry, also stark naked, leapt into the river with a whoop, splashing me in the process.  
  
I tried to ignore him, taking up a smooth stroke through the water. But he was staring and trying to swim without my arse breaking the surface was impossible.  
  
I let my feet float down to the riverbed.  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
"What?" he parroted.  
  
I walked back over to him, enjoying the drag of the water against my body. "Race you?" I asked, when I got up to him.  
  
"No thanks."  
  
Harry turned away and started hauling himself up onto the riverbank, giving me an excellent view of his body. It was rather lovely. He had that wiry frame, full of strength, his legs were deliciously toned, and his backside was mouthwatering.  
  
"Don't tell me you can't swim," I said.  
  
He flipped over on the bank, like a landed trout, not at all graceful. His penis rested against his thigh. It was... big and thoroughly enticing, and I could not stop staring at it.  
  
"Of course I can't swim," he replied, squinting at me.  
  
I smirked, realising it wasn't that he was staring, rather that he couldn't really see me.  
  
"I suppose it is a bit of a disadvantage being practically blind in the water."  
  
He frowned at me. "Who cares? It's not like it's vital that I be able to swim."  
  
I drew closer to him. His cock was at my eye level, I couldn't help giving it several longing glances. Even flaccid as it was at that moment, it held some kind of magnetic attraction to my mind. To my own cock, to be disgustingly honest. I was getting hard, just looking at him.  
  
"Perhaps not vital," I said. "But there must be times when the ability would be beneficial. Suppose you had to escape from the law, closing in on all sides, and the only way to get away was to swim for it across a great lake?"  
  
"I wouldn't be stupid enough to get myself into that situation. And the rest of the Order would be there with me anyway."  
  
"It's a hypothetical question," I snapped. "Alright, suppose you have sacrificed yourself in order to save your precious friends and you are in that situation. What then?"  
  
"I would go up into the trees."  
  
"There aren't any."  
  
"I don't go where there are no trees."  
  
I sighed, drawing closer still, placing a hand on the bank beside his knee.  
  
"It's not supposed to be entirely realistic. It's a challenge."  
  
"A challenge in which you make up ridiculous things that would never happen, just so that you can drown me in your mind."  
  
I moved my hand a fraction, so that my thumb was just barely brushing against the side of his thigh. "I wouldn't want that," I said. My voice was quite changed, low and breathless, though I was doing nothing more than rubbing my thumb against his skin, and Harry had broken out in gooseflesh despite the warmth of the day. He didn't move his leg away though.  
  
"But that's what would happen if I got into that situation."  
  
"Not necessarily. I could teach you."  
  
He raised his eyebrows and peered at me closely. "You're joking."  
  
I shook my head. "Why would I bother to joke about that?"  
  
"Why would you bother to teach an outlaw who's kidnapped you and is holding you hostage to swim?"  
  
I'll admit it did sound ludicrous when he put it as baldly as that. But I wasn't thinking about my father or Lord Voldemort or anything other than my own cock, which was beginning to ache in a way I found far more pressing than any of my other concerns. Still, I could hardly say that.  
  
"Perhaps I am lulling you into a false sense of security, so that I may make good my escape. Perhaps I am going to drown you myself. Think of the rewards that would come from that."  
  
He stretched back to reach for his glasses. I thought that his cock seemed fuller than it had before. Not as erect as my own, but I didn't think he was unmoved by my presence or discreet touches.  
  
He put his glasses on and looked at me and I was struck once more by how bright his eyes were. How very green. At that moment they seemed wary, but also perhaps a little amused. I dare say my offer had caught him off guard. I wondered if no-one else in the Order knew how to swim, if so that would be a marvellous way to take them out.  
  
"Alright," he said after a few moments. "Teach me, then."  
  
I pushed back away from the bank, giving him room. "You should take your glasses off."  
  
He gave me a look, as though to ask whether I thought he was completely stupid.  
  
"You don't wear them when you're... doing your thing. How did you learn to ride?" I asked, the question suddenly occurring to me.  
  
He shrugged, taking his glasses off and flinging them onto the bank carelessly. Then he waded towards me, his face scrunched in concentration.  
  
"I trust Thunderbolt."  
  
"Your horse?! Are you a complete lunatic? You can't possibly trust your wellbeing entirely to the whims of a dumb beast."  
  
"I'm trusting it to you now, aren't I?" Harry asked, and he jumped on me, dunking me thoroughly.  
  
I fought my way to the surface, coughing and spluttering, lashing out at Harry, but connecting with nothing.  
  
"You fiend," I cried and he laughed.  
  
"Preposterous. Don't forget preposterous, that's the best bit!"  
  
His arms were looped about my neck but he kept moving, slipping easily around my body, like an eel and he was laughing. In that moment it felt as though we had known each other an eternity and nothing on earth could touch us.  
  
I supposed that he had plenty of practise in the art of horseplay. In order to "win" at all, I had to fling myself bodily into the water, taking him with me. Sacrificing myself in the process. He seemed fearless to me. I hated being dunked, unprepared, coming up coughing and choking, close to panic. He seemed to relish it, despite the many disadvantages he had.  
  
I grew tired of playing that way a long time before he did. My shoves became frantic and furious, but he was slippery and it was impossible to catch him.  
  
"Get off me!" I shouted, so loudly it cut through the air like a gunshot in the stillness.  
  
He stopped where he was, still holding on to me, his legs wound round mine and peered at me as if to check that his ears did not deceive him.  
  
"You're just being a bad loser," he said in a low voice, untangling himself.  
  
I was already shaking with suppressed rage, and his words tipped me over the edge. I punched him as hard as I could in the face, cutting his lip with my signet ring.  
  
I started wading towards the bank, but Harry threw himself at my back, my legs gave way and we both crashed into the water yet again. I let out a sharp cry as we went under, and I nearly choked on a lungful of water as I tried to breathe in.  
  
We tussled and whirled together, somehow I ended up face to face with him, gripping his hair, but still he would not let go. I kicked out at him in a panic. Harry grabbed me hard around the waist, clinging to me like a limpet. I was frantic with fear, unable to breathe, unable to get away from him and so I did what I had to do. I bit him and kneed him at the same time.  
  
He let go and I broke the surface of the water, coughing and spluttering, gasping for air, pushing my hair away from my face.  
  
Harry came up as well, lurching forward and spitting out a lungful of water and bile.  
  
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" he yelled.  
  
"Me? You almost drowned me, you... you imbecile."  
  
"How could I do that? You're the one who can swim."  
  
"Not when I'm being held under by a maniac with a death wish."  
  
"And what makes you think that the same thing wouldn't happen to me? That you father's men wouldn't swim out after me. I would be at a disadvantage then."  
  
He was right, but I was still furious. I folded my arms across my chest and glared at the band of trees, before resorting to insulting him.  
  
"It's ridiculous that you can't swim. You're a grown man and you live right beside a river. It's not as though it's difficult, all you have to do is float."  
  
Harry glared in my general direction.  
  
"Come here," I commanded, holding out my hand. He waded over to me. The water was only up to my waist that close to the bank, so I squatted down. "Hold on to me and take your feet off the bottom."  
  
He held tight to my hands and got one foot off the ground, but every time he tried to take the second off the ground he went under.  
  
After what must have been the twentieth attempt he let out a growl of frustration. "I can't do it," he said.  
  
"Of course you can, everyone can float."  
  
At least he wasn't terrified, as I had been when learning this most basic lesson, taunted by Professor Snape's cold sneering words.  
  
"I'm telling you I can't." Harry stood up, wrenching his hands out of mine.  
  
"So you're just going to give up. Do you walk away from everything that challenges you?" I raised an eyebrow at him, not that he could see it.  
  
He rounded on me. "I don't give up on anything. Or anyone."  
  
It seemed to me that comment was loaded, and I wanted to ask what he meant, but already he was striding out to the middle of the river calling "come on, then, show me."  
  
I put my hand under his stomach as he let his legs float up, and after a couple of attempts he managed it.  
  
A laugh bubbled up out of him as I instructed him to kick out his legs behind him and he churned up the water in great arcs.  
  
"Now your arms," I said, squinting through the water splattering down on us both.  
  
"What about my arms?" he asked.  
  
"Like this." I removed my hands to show him and he sank like a stone.  
  
He lurched upright, coughing but still laughing like a maniac.  
  
I frowned at him. "You don't need me to stay afloat."  
  
"Alright, alright. God, you're so grumpy." he said, rolling his eyes at me.  
  
I showed him the arm movements and the next time he didn't sink straight away when I let go, but kicked out his legs and flailed his arms in something far from the way I had demonstrated. But it worked. Until he whooped and went under again.  
  
We both laughed when he surfaced, grinning like the world's biggest idiot.  
  
We got out of the river and dried off in the warm breeze, before Harry squatted down in front of me, his glasses perched back on the bridge of his nose, and scooped some of the stuff out of the jar.  
  
"Do you know what it is?" I asked.  
  
Harry shrugged. "One of Luna's special concoctions."  
  
That didn't really answer my question, but Harry was smoothing some of it on my chest with long smooth strokes and I couldn't remember the question.  
  
His hands, the smell of him, the sight of his disastrous hair drying in all directions... all these things that shouldn’t have pleased me at all, somehow made him more endearing. That he was also The Phoenix helped too.  
  
I sighed and stretched and his hands faltered as he took in my state of arousal. He looked up at my face, and I could not subdue my blush.  
  
"Touch me," I instructed.  
  
He blinked several times, and when he didn't immediately obey I said it again. "Touch me." I grabbed his wrist and pushed it down.  
  
"You're married," he said, trying to pull away.  
  
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes. Don't tell me you have suddenly had an attack of conscience."  
  
He yanked his hand away, wiping it against the grass. "You disgust me. You think that just because you have money, you can have anything you want. You're wrong."  
  
He stalked off, grabbing his clothes and yanking them on quickly, whilst I sat stunned. I had been so sure that he liked me. I had been cautious and waited, and I was sure that he had reacted to my touches, to me. I did not understand how it had gone so wrong. I could have told him that the marriage really was a sham, as he had so succinctly put it the last time we had met. But I was gripped by the stubborn notion that he should have known.  
  
"Return me," I said, as he finished fastening his trousers. "Send me back home." Because I could not countenance staying there with my shame.  
  
"I can't," he said and he turned away.  
  
*  
  
My chest ached, though I fought off the sting of tears. It was nothing worse than when my father chastised me, though in that moment it felt like the end of the world.  
  
I was a Malfoy, and Malfoys do not crumble, they do not fold, they do not take no for an answer. Or if they do, they make the other sorry that they ever denied a Malfoy.  
  
All of which was well and good, but when I finally returned to the camp, having followed the river for a few miles and finding no other signs of civilisation, it was with my emotions in more turmoil than ever before.  
  
I avoided Harry and his gaze. I did not care to see any emotion there other than desire.  
  
I had decided that I would escape, somehow. Follow the river to its end, or its source, if I must. There was no need for stealth. No-one batted an eyelid when I left the camp the following morning, at dawn, headed for the river.  
  
I went the opposite direction to the one I had chosen the previous day, wading through the water with my trousers rolled up and my boots slung around my neck.  
  
I clambered up onto the far bank when I had gone a few miles and the river narrowed. I walked until nightfall and never once did I see another living soul or any evidence that I was not the last living soul in the world.  
  
That night, I felt the itch and burn of the mark on my arm for the first time since I had been there.  
  
I closed my hand over it, hiding it from the night sky, to afraid to sleep, too tired to stay awake.  
  
My waking dreams were nightmares. It was Harry who bit me this time, and laughing he drowned me in a river of my own blood.  
  
*  
  
The next morning I caught a fish by billowing my shirt out as though it were a net, though I had no idea how to start a fire by myself, and had to eat it raw, fighting back my own gorge.  
  
I left the river, going back to the shelter of the trees and searching for Luna's berries.  


 

*

  
  
I don't remember how I got home in the end. I remember making camp for the night. I remember the fear that crept through me when darkness fell. That night, in the woods, it was worse than the night I spent by the river. Lord Voldemort was some slithering beast, sliding soundlessly along the forest floor. He was coming for me.  
  
I was delirious when they found me. Little could be ascertained from my ravings, though it was thought that I had eaten some bad berries and taken too much sun.  
  
There had been no trace of Harry or the Order, or myself for that matter, while I had been gone. It seemed impossible to me, that as many as there were of the Order, they could just vanish into thin air that way.  
  
Astoria was... wonderful. I almost managed to fool myself that I really was in love with her in the weeks following my ordeal. And we finally managed to consummate the relationship. That I imagined Harry in all his naked glory, lying in the grass at the river's edge, his cock full and hard rubbing against mine in a frenzied ecstasy... well, at least I did not disappoint Astoria, though I was glad her heart belonged to another.  
  
At last Pansy returned to me as a friend, along with a boy called Blaise in tow. He was wicked and wonderful, playing us against each other and wedging himself in between. That he was also stunning with his rich brown skin, high cheekbones, full, sensuous lips and a body to die for was the icing on the cake. I could have been jealous, had I not been so ruined for anyone else by Harry.  
  
He complimented her perfectly, and of course her father was furious with her that she was refusing to even look at any of the young men he deemed suitable. I had given Pansy a sly smile, approving the choice she had made to replace me in her romantic affections, but not, thank the heavens, in her life altogether.  
  
Once the initial excitement of my return had worn off though, it felt rather like the air had been let out of my sails. I drifted from room to room, and when that held no relief I spent hours walking the gardens.  
  
When Mother came to see me she declared, "You are sickening for something, Draco." Smoothing my hair back from my face and looking deep into my eyes. "What happened to you?"  
  
It was a rhetorical question, but I asked myself the same thing. It felt like a dream. A particularly vivid one, but a dream all the same.  
  
And then Lord Voldemort called on me again.  
  
*  
  
This time when I went to him, there were no illusions. My blood ran cold, and that strange itching, burning sensation took up residence in my left arm. When I looked at the dark wound, it seemed to move before my eyes. It formed patterns. Pictures. Skulls and snakes and hideous things that held my gaze until I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, it was just an ugly mark again.  
  
Voldemort held out his arms to me, and I tried to suppress a shiver of revulsion as I allowed him to wrap his bony arms around me. I closed my eyes but I could not believe myself anywhere but there.  
  
He let me go, seeming amused at what he saw on my face.  
  
"So, you have lived to tell the tale of your brush with The Phoenix once more. What an incredible streak of luck you have. Or perhaps you, like The Phoenix himself, are also blessed with more than one life." His fingers stroked up my neck and along my jaw.  
  
I trembled with the effort of not pulling away from him. "That is not the case," I replied.  
  
"No? So he did not try to kill you, whilst he had you in his grasp? I wonder then, what he could possibly have wanted with  _you_." He said it with such scorn, letting me know exactly what he thought of me. His eyes darkened, his pupils dancing in the centre of his bloody gaze.  
  
I flinched then, pulling away from him. "I don't know what he wanted with me. I was only there for a week."  
  
"Plenty of time to give him information," Lord Voldemort said.  
  
I shook my head. "No, he didn't even ask anything personal."  
  
His rage was simmering, tightly controlled, it felt like staring into the face of a cobra. "Then what did you talk about for an entire week? What did you do? What did he want with you?"  
  
"I don't know," I said. But in that moment, I remembered something - a snatch of conversation. He had wanted me to stay. To become one of them. I hadn't really thought he was serious. Or perhaps it was just that I couldn't take him seriously when he was living like that.  
  
I said none of that to Lord Voldemort, but he must have seen it there in my face, in my eyes. He traced his fingers over the wound on my arm, pressing hard against it until it hurt, never mind burned.  
  
"I want you to find him," he said, leaning close to whisper in my ear. "I want you to bring him to me."  
  
"I don't know where he is," I said. "I don't remember."  
  
He dug his talon-like fingernails in, drawing blood. My knees turned to water and my head swam.  
  
"Find him," he said, and I felt the weight of the threat behind it. I made my mind go blank, not wishing to give him the satisfaction of my fear.  
  
"Yes, my Lord," I said, letting my arm go slack in his hand and bowing my head.  
  
He withdrew his hand, only to rest it on my head, stroking my hair as though I were a child, chastised and now to be soothed.  


 

*

  
  
I had no idea how to go about finding Harry. The Phoenix. I had to stop thinking of him as Harry, in my head. Not when I knew I had to bring him in or risk everything and everyone I knew.  
  
I ordered Nimbus, my stallion, to be readied for riding. I had little hope of finding The Order where my father's men had failed, but the sooner I was out there looking the better. And perhaps if Harry heard that I was about... that I was looking for him... then what? I didn't dwell on the niggling sense that what I really wanted was for him to find me again, to whisk me away like some heroine in a novel.  
  
Astoria came to me, her eyes worried, but otherwise appearing her marvellously unflappable self.  
  
"You're going alone?" she asked.  
  
"Anyone else would only hold me up."  
  
"Your father will be furious when he finds out," she said. "It's too dangerous."  
  
I disagreed, but I could hardly tell her that, instead I said. "Don't tell Father. He'll find out soon enough, but you don't need to get involved."  
  
She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my neck, which surprised me. I looked down into her eyes. "How is Theo?"  
  
She blushed. "He's... well."  
  
There was something she wasn't telling me. I pulled back, putting my hands on her shoulders, keeping our gazes locked.  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
She sighed. "He's angry. Jealous. Ever since you returned, he has been more demanding and furious when he doesn't get his own way."  
  
I hummed, deep in thought. "Do you still love him?"  
  
"Yes," she said. "Of course I do. But this isn't going to work."  
  
I thought about Harry. Time and distance had given me the opportunity to re-evaluate my thoughts and actions. And I was forced to admit to myself, if no-one else, that perhaps I had overreacted.  
  
I still felt a hot wave of humiliation wash over me whenever I thought about his rejection. He had been beastly. Utterly monstrous. That his accusation might have been true for so much of my life was beside the point. I hadn't even tried to argue. I had been too ashamed. I had been cowed in the face of his disgust.  
  
But leaving, coming back... well, at first it had been wonderful. The joyful tears, the newspapers that reported on my miraculous escape along with a sketch of The Phoenix with an even higher reward for his capture - dead or alive. Being able to sleep with Astoria, and perhaps she was carrying my child at long last. All of it had been a magnificent dream. A moment when all that my life should have been abruptly came true, before it went up in flames.  
  
That thought brought me back to the present. "Does Theo know that we slept together?" I asked.  
  
Astoria's face crumpled. "Yes. He wanted to. He told me he couldn't stand not knowing. So I told him and now he won't touch me."  
  
My heart plummeted. I started to say something, what I had no idea. What on earth could I say? We didn't love one another, not in that way, and yet I had more of a right to sleep with her than the man she loved. It seemed ridiculous. It was ridiculous. How had we got here?  
  
I gathered her slender hand in between mine and kissed it. "I'm sorry," I said.  
  
It was the first time I'd ever said that and meant it. Astoria smiled weakly. "It's not your fault," she said.  
  
"Then whose is it?" I was so terribly frustrated. More than I could remember having been in my entire life. A scapegoat would have been a handy commodity.  
  
But Astoria just shook her head. "It is no-one's fault. It's just the way of things."  
  
I didn't understand how she could act so calm, whilst my blood was beginning to boil. The vein in my forehead was throbbing. Astoria gentled me with her touch, and I leaned into it, wishing it was real.  
  
"I will try and think of something," I said, wearily.  
  
"Be careful, Draco," she said. She slid her arms around my neck and hugged me, brushing my cheek with a soft kiss, then took her leave. I felt a rush of affection for her, and I examined it to see if it could be the first stirrings of true love perhaps, but alas it was as if I was watching the retreat of a dear sister.  
  
My thoughts turned to Harry again. I didn't believe in all that nonsense about there being one person in all the world for each of us - twin flames and kindred spirits. But I couldn't bring myself to dismiss it out of hand either. After all, Mother had found hers.  
  
Harry wasn't even the most attractive man I had ever seen. That would be Blaise, who was also alluring, and all things that should make him my perfect match. And yet he hadn't made my pulse race. I had engaged in the game with Pansy, enjoying it immensely. But I hadn't stood to lose anything, and she knew I was no threat.  
  
But Harry... well, Harry was an unknown quantity. I realised that I hardly knew him in spite of our time together. He had asked the most banal questions imaginable. I wanted to hear his voice again.  
  
Dobby came to inform me that Nimbus was ready. When I got down to the stables I was in for a surprise. There was a man waiting with his own horse. He was big and he looked rough. But it was more than that. There was something hard about him, that I hadn't ever witnessed before.  
  
"Who are you?" I asked, my hackles raised by his very presence.  
  
"Fenrir Greyback," the man said, offering nothing further.  
  
I had heard his name though. My father had mentioned him - he had not been complimentary as I recalled. I had been eavesdropping at the time, so I could not recall what the issue had been, just that my father was angry at what he called "the man's reluctance to behave like a human being let alone a gentleman".  
  
I had taken that to mean that he was rough and callous and without good breeding. It was so much worse.  
  
He sat astride his horse, which had obviously been beaten into submission rather than trained into obedience. He glowered from out of the hairiest face I had ever seen. His side-whiskers, beard and moustache were thick and coarse, greying and grizzly. And he had several wicked looking scars across what could be seen of his face. He was big. Bigger even than Crabbe and Goyle, but where they carried a lot of fat, this man seemed made of pure muscle. I was peculiarly impressed by that fact, my eyes lingering on his form for a moment, before I remembered to be intimidated all over again.  
  
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Why are you here?" I asked.  
  
"Lord Voldemort wants me to make sure that if you find The Phoenix, you bring him in. He thinks you're a bit enamoured."  
  
"What?! That's ridiculous."  
  
He made a gesture that could have been a shrug or an overture to a punch and I shrank back against Nimbus' flank.  
  
I tried again, my voice pathetically timid. "I ride faster alone."  
  
He grinned, at least I think that's what it was, how could one tell with all that facial hair. He could have just been baring his rotten teeth at me. "I can go fast," he said.  
  
I looked dubiously at his poor horse, but I knew instinctively that there was nothing I could say that would put him off. He was Voldemort's man and I... I was weak.  
  
I mounted Nimbus, and we walked our horses out of the yard and down towards the lane. Several others joined us there. Among them I recognised my Aunt Bellatrix, mother's sister. She was crazy. I remembered the Christmas when she had held Pansy and me hostage, telling us terrifying stories until we were crying and begging her to stop. Mother had found us and put an end to it. It was not a happy coincidence to find that she was joining us.  
  
I tried to focus on my plan, which was not much to boast about, even to Dobby who would swear blind that I had the most brilliant mind of the century. But to this bunch of ruffians, I could just imagine the derision if I so much as uttered a word of it.  
  
So I clicked my tongue and nudged Nimbus into a trot and then a gallop. Let them keep up if they could, I thought.  
  
I didn't look back, flying past the place where I thought the carriage had been held up, out into the open countryside with green and gold fields as far as the eye could see. Through forests and past rivers and lakes. Staying away from the villages and towns that remained out of sight from the road I was taking.  
  
I didn't expect to recognise the place where the road had seemed to change. I had been so tired I had chalked it up to a trick of the eye or a change in the light.  
  
I don't know why I looked over to the right, just ahead of me, when I did. Perhaps a movement had caught my eye. Perhaps it was the shifting of the trees. They really did seem to be moving, though even now it is hard for me to comprehend. In the broad light of day it did not look just like an archway into a dark clump of trees, but a passageway from one world to the next. Perhaps that seems a fanciful image, but that was the impression I got.  
  
Without thinking I drew hard on Nimbus' reins, pulling him up to a stop. I had all but forgotten the others, it was only as they careered to a halt around me, some charging straight past.  
  
I looked around me, a cold prickle of fear running along my spine. Most of the ragtag band of thugs seemed to be waiting for me to say something, though Greyback was busy staring in the direction I had been looking when I pulled up.  
  
"What are we stopping for?" Bellatrix demanded.  
  
Greyback turned back to me. He looked bemused, which surprised me as he had to have seen the passage forming as well as I did, he had been looking right at it.  
  
"I have to er..." I panicked trying to think of some explanation for the sudden stop. "I… I need to relieve myself.”  
  
I dismounted, my legs wobbling for a moment, and I hung on to Nimbus' reins until I felt steadier. It was the same thing that had happened last time. I had been tired, but still... there was definitely something strange about the place whether I wanted to believe it or not.  
  
I strode off behind a nearby clump of bushes, and nearly leapt out of my skin as Greyback joined me.  
  
Somehow, standing so close to him brought home how big he was, I had the feeling he could break me with his bear hands. I wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t. I unfastened my breeches with shaking hands and took out my cock.  
  
Of course I couldn't piss. It was impossible with him leering at me like that, even though he was quite happily pissing a fucking river beside me. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as the smell reached me.  
  
"What's the matter, got stage fright?" he asked, shoving himself back into his trousers and laughing at me still standing there.  
  
Oh, dear God. I bristled at his jeering. "Stop staring at me," I snapped.  
  
He leaned over my shoulder and looked down, grinning his rotten grin, the putrid stench of decay wafting over me. I closed my eyes and willed myself to piss. I thought of waterfalls and rivers and oh god, a certain river with Harry naked. My cock started to thicken in spite of everything.  
  
Horrified, I jerked away from Greyback. "Alright," he said, pulling back, finally leaving me alone and I wilted with relief.  
  
After I had managed to do what should have come naturally, I mounted up once more, taking a last longing glance at the passageway. No-one else commented on it. Their gazes seemed to pass right over it.  
  
"I think we've gone wrong somewhere," I said, pulling Nimbus around to face the way we had come.  
  
That was what I should have said before, I realised. There was no chance that Harry and The Order wouldn't notice the churned earth of the road and the disturbances made by everyone dismounting and wandering around so close to the entrance to their camp.  
  
Needless to say we were unsuccessful and returned home early the next morning, weary and empty handed.  
  
I had been sure that I would never find the place again. How could I possibly have ridden straight there? Perhaps it was a different place, I told myself. It just seemed the right one, because of the strangeness.  
  
I couldn't decide which was the least likely: running across the same strange entrance to The Order's camp or there being two such places. Maybe even more, if that was the case. And if it hadn’t led to the camp, where did it go? The only thing I really wanted to know was whether I would ever see Harry again, and if it would be at the end of a rope.  
  
I had shut myself up in my room the morning we returned, refusing to come out. I made a fuss and Father came to lecture me on my failure. Snape lectured me on my childishness, and then tried to instruct me on how to find The Phoenix, as if he had any idea what he was talking about. Mother fussed and wrung her hands with worry.  
  
Astoria came to tell me that Greyback was still hanging around, and my stomach plummeted.  
  
"What is he doing?" I asked.  
  
She shrugged. "I suppose he's waiting to see if you go out looking again."  
  
I felt a sick twist of dread in my gut. "He can't stay forever," I said.  
  
Astoria looked me in the eye and said. "Are you going to stay locked up in here forever because of him?"  
  
I knew she had a point, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. "Yes," I said, foolishly stubborn.  
  
"Very well," she said. I could tell she was rolling her eyes at me, but I didn't care to see it.  
  
I had never felt the need to leave my residence before, be it at the Manor or my marital home, at least not to venture any further than the garden. But after three days of feeling held captive, I was a nervous wreck.  
  
On the morning of the fifth day I finally ventured to the stables with the ridiculous notion that I could reason with Greyback, that I could better search alone.  
  
When I got there Greyback was lying on a loose pile of hay, watching the stable boy go about his duties with more than idle interest. The boy seemed anxious. Skittish. And the horses were reacting to the air of tension. It sickened my stomach and I felt a twinge of guilt for having hidden away for so long, allowing this to go on.  
  
Greyback scrambled to his feet in such an ungainly manner I might have laughed, if the whole situation was not so damned horrific.  
  
I stared at him wordlessly and he grinned, as though he hadn't just been squatting in my stable upsetting my stable-hand, my horses and me.  
  
"Malfoy," he said. "I thought you'd chickened out."  
  
I knew his words were meant to rile me, and they did. "Malfoys do not  _chicken out_ ," I said crossly. "You may be quite happy to run around in circles, wearing out the horses, but I am not. I've been busy."  
  
"Oh yeah?" he leered. "Busy fucking that pretty wife of yours."  
  
"Don't you even look at her," I snarled and he laughed, holding his hands up as if in surrender. "I've been busy looking at maps of the surrounding countryside to see whether I can find anywhere that looks likely," I said in a sudden burst of inspiration.  
  
He looked at me thoughtfully, and I knew he was wondering whether or not I was telling the truth.  
  
Lying is easy with a little practice, and I had had plenty. I nodded.  
  
"Yes, and I think I have found a few possible places."  
  
"You have?" he didn't look entirely convinced.  
  
"Yes, I was about to go and have a ride round, actually."  
  
"I'll come with you," he said, standing beside me, bracing himself against the stall wall and effectively blocking me in next to Nimbus, who was getting restless and agitated with this boorish man so close.  
  
I stroked Nimbus with long soothing strokes, whispering in his ear.  
  
"Step back, sir," I said in my most haughty voice. "You are disturbing my horse."  
  
He stood there a moment, silent and intimidating, and then he moved back, giving us room.  
  
"Of course you should come," I said, after a moment, my mind racing with ways to get out of it. "I take it your horse is ready."  
  
"She's outside," he said.  
  
"Then mount up, I intend to leave now."  
  
He lumbered out of the stable and I quickly tacked up Nimbus, kissing his velvety muzzle. "Don't worry, we'll be alright." I was trying to convince myself more than him, but Nimbus nuzzled my cheek softly, and then went looking for a treat. I laughed and emptied my pocket, holding out the apple I had brought.  
  
I had initially hoped to throw Greyback off by riding hard and fast. But unlikely as it was, he managed to keep up, though I could see his horse was struggling. I eased up, until Greyback could easily ride alongside of me. His horses nostrils were flared and she was breathing hard, already she was sweating heavily.  
  
I looked at him pointedly. "You'll kill her if you push her like that." I tried to say it as blandly as possible, but I too angry for that.  
  
Greyback leaned over, grabbing Nimbus' reins, startling him and me both. And I realised my mistake. I had angered him. He looked at me as though he would eat me as soon as look at me.  
  
"Then I'll get another horse. One that isn't as useless as this lazy mare."  
  
"Let go," I said, my heart pounding, blood rushing in my ears.  
  
"Or what?" he asked, obviously starting to enjoy himself. He jerked on Nimbus' reins, and the horse whinnied, rearing his head up.  
  
"Or I'll go home and you can find The Order by yourself," I said, not feeling even a fraction as brave as I was pretending to be.  
  
"You know what I think?" Greyback pulled both our horses up short, leaning over to get into my personal space. The putrid, rotten stench of him made my stomach roil in protest and I had to clamp down on the urge to gag. "I reckon you're leading Voldemort down the garden path. I reckon you know well enough where it is, but you don't want to tell him."  
  
I forced myself to smirk at him and roll my eyes. "Wherever would you get such an idea?" I asked. "I want him caught as much as the next man. More, since he seems to have some kind of personal vendetta against me. Three times he has accosted me. And might I remind you that I was the one held captive. It was thoroughly unpleasant."  
  
Greyback listened to me rant on, his eyes narrowing. When I stopped for breath he regarded me with his head cocked to one side.  
  
"Three times, eh?" he said.  
  
"Yes, twice in the carriage and once..." I stopped abruptly, heat flooding my entire body at being caught out. "No, I'm mistaken," I said, trying to ignore the heat in my face that gave away the fact I was blushing hard. "Only two times. But two was enough. More than enough."  
  
Fuck.  _Fuck_!  
  
I could see he didn't believe me. And now he was thinking about what I was hiding. I wracked my brain trying to think of some explanation that would suffice, but I could think of nothing. I was too afraid.  
  
"Oh God," I murmured under my breath as a slow grin spread across Greyback's face. "Oh dear God, please save me."  
  
Greyback pried my hands off the reins, binding them at the wrists with a length of leather cord. He kicked his horse into an easy trot, leading Nimbus alongside.  
  
"This is ridiculous. I haven't done anything. Wait until my father hears about this. And Lord Voldemort will be furious-"  
  
"Quiet," Greyback growled, cutting me off mid-rant.  
  
I thought about jumping off, taking my chances wherever we were. I could in all likelihood outrun Greyback, even with my hands bound, but I wasn't sure for how long. He seemed the sort to doggedly pursue until his prey weakened enough for him to take out. There would be no such thing as fair play.  
  
He was taking me to Voldemort, and I knew that if I hoped to escape with my life if nothing else, I would have to force my mind to come up with something.  
  
"You're making a mistake," I said sullenly, but my words lacked any conviction and Greyback didn't even bother to respond.  
  
*  
  
Lord Voldemort was waiting for us. A shiver ran down my spine as we passed through the front entrance, along the darkened corridor and into the dining hall. It was a large, cavernous room, with three long tables that ran along the length of the walls. It had been the scene of many great feasts, but that had been a long time ago.  
  
Voldemort was standing in the centre of the room, like a host waiting to great his guests. But there was only me and Greyback.  
  
"It's a mistake," I cried out before Voldemort could say a word. It was stupid, and I wished I could take the words back the moment they spilled from my lips in fear, echoing around the hall and coming back to haunt me.  
  
"Is that so?" For some reason Voldemort's voice sounded flat, it didn't ring off the empty goblets and silver salvers like mine had.  
  
Instinctively I shrank away from Voldemort, leaning back against the solid bulk of Greyback and then jerking away again.  
  
I hadn't noticed him move, but all of a sudden Voldemort was right in front of me. He tilted my chin up and looked into my eyes.  
  
"And what mistake would that be?" he asked, his fingers sliding against my skin in a caress.  
  
I swallowed, my throat made a dry clicking sound and I couldn't speak. I shook my head. He reached down, hooking his finger inside the leather binding my hands.  
  
"This?" he asked. Then he looked enquiringly at Greyback. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked. "Surely Mr Malfoy could have done nothing to warrant being tied up."  
  
His tone was sarcastic, goading. I fought the urge to gibber explanations at him. Snape's cold voice coming into my mind and reminding me to  _listen_  before jumping in with both feet and committing myself to anything.  
  
"Would you care to explain?" Voldemort asked. Since he didn't address either of us, I left the question for Greyback.  
  
"He's changed his story: said he's met The Phoenix three times. Then he tried to cover it up. I reckon he's working with him."  
  
Voldemort's questioning gaze fell on me. I did my best not to flinch and look away, but it felt as though he was probing inside my brain. I winced at the thought.  
  
"A mistake?" he asked.  
  
There were tears forming in my eyes and a thick lump in my throat. I swallowed and nodded once, my eyes closing, sending the tears spilling over.  
  
"Hmm, I'm not sure that I believe you," Voldemort said, in a soft voice. "Perhaps you would like to join me for supper tonight. Greyback for goodness sake remove these bindings, Malfoy here is no common thief." He was mocking me with his tone and the sardonic curve of his thin lips.  
  
I did not wish to stay for supper. I had no desire other than to get out of that mausoleum, with its grotesque monsters and the darkness that seemed to be pressing in on me with every moment I stayed.  
  
Greyback took out a wicked looking dagger from a sheath on his belt, it glinted in the low light and my legs shook as I prayed fervently this was not to be my last sight on earth.  
  
He grinned, making a show of patting me down for any weapons I might be concealing, lingering and making my stomach turn. Finally he slid the knife against the leather binding, cutting through it smoothly. I jerked my hands away, stepping back wishing to put as much space between us as I could.  
  
Voldemort, who had been watching us with detached amusement, looked over my shoulder, his expression changing, smoothing out. While he was still a nightmarish vision to my eyes, there was an illusion of geniality to him .  
  
"Ah, my guests have arrived. Wonderful," he said.  
  
I glanced round and felt the blood drain from my face as I saw Mother and Father among those filing in.  
  
I wiped my face quickly on my sleeve, correcting my posture and running my hands through my hair, dreading to think what I must look like to them.  
  
Mother's face was drawn and anxious. As I watched she hesitated, looking over at me. I thought for a moment that she would break away and come to me, but then Father touched her gently on the arm and she drew herself up, clasping her hands in front of her, carrying on to her place at one of the tables. I saw where I had learned that ability to gather myself together and move on, all at once.  
  
Voldemort slid his hand down my back, to rest against the base of my spine, pressing me forward. I jerked away as if his hand burnt, stumbling towards the tables.  
  
Mother and Father had kept a place for me between them. Aunt Bellatrix was sitting next to my mother and grinning over at me.  
  
I was glad to become one of the anonymous many, rather than as I had suspected I would be the focus of their attention.  
  
Voldemort started speaking and I tried to concentrate, but I was overwhelmed. The shock of the day had started to seep into my bones and I shook, keeping my head down, staring at the battered and scarred table top and trying not to start crying yet again.  
  
My father pinched my arm sharply and I couldn't hold back a gasp at the sudden pain. But it had the desired effect of bringing my focus to a point. I still couldn't take in a word of what Voldemort was saying, but I was no longer fighting my emotions.  
  
I breathed in and out, in and out, focusing on that.  
  
And then the prisoner was brought out.  
  
I recognised the woman, I realised with a start. Not that our paths had ever crossed exactly, but I knew she was a teacher. I tried to remember why she had stuck in my mind, but I couldn't think. I didn't understand why she was there.  
  
Voldemort was saying something about dissenting voices and revolutions. I looked at the woman. She was so terrified that she was visibly trembling, tears streaming down her face. I couldn't imagine her leading anything more controversial than a class of seven year olds.  
  
I felt her fear and her pain. But I couldn’t help the feeling of relief that it wasn’t me in her place. I was not proud of the feeling. I stared in morbid fascination for a few moments. And then the snake was brought in.  
  
The woman shrieked and began to sob, begging to be let free.  
  
I shuddered, wishing that I could cover my ears, wishing that I could just get up and run from this hellish place.  
  
The snake was enormous, and it seemed happy to continue sleeping, until Voldemort hooked it with one long bony hand, uncoiling its head and bringing it toward the woman.  
  
She shrieked again, pulling against her bindings and trying to back away.  
  
Voldemort draped the snake around the woman's shoulders. Slowly, painfully, dreadfully slowly the rest of the snake's body slithered across the short distance, wrapping itself around her from head to foot.  
  
I looked around at the others sitting at the table. There was a manic gleam in Bellatrix's eyes. She looked as though she might leap out of her seat at any moment.  
  
Mother was looking straight ahead, her face blank, seeming unmoved to anyone unfamiliar with her. But she had her tells. Her hands were still clasped together in her lap, and she was twisting her fingers against each other in agitation. That and a small tic in her jaw were the only outward signs that anything was wrong.  
  
Father didn't seem to know where to look. He kept glancing up to the head of the table, where the woman's cries rang out, only to grimace and looked away again.  
  
No-one seemed surprised by what was happening, and I wondered how many of these there must have been for all of them to just sit there and accept it. And then I realised that was exactly what I was doing.  
  
It seemed that it would never end. I began to believe that this was hell and I would be here forever listening to the woman dying.  
  
Finally the woman's cries weakened and died away. My vision blurred and I closed my eyes, letting the tears spill over.  
  
*  
  
When it was finally over I felt hollowed out. I could hardly believe what had happened.  
  
I stared around me as food was served. The woman's body was still there in the hall, wrapped in the deadly embrace of the snake.  
  
I pushed the food around my plate. It was fish. I would never eat fish again.  
  
I longed more fervently than ever for Harry and The Order. I longed for the shady sanctuary of the camp, away from this madness.  
  
I caught sight of Astoria's father, looking pale but stoic. I wondered if he thought it was worth marrying off his daughter to arrive in this particular social circle. I couldn’t tell from one person to the next if they believed it was alright, something necessary in order to prevent a revolution, or if they were just as horrified as I was.  
  
Hours later, after the feast, Voldemort called my father to his side and they spoke, briefly. Or rather Voldemort spoke and Father listened, being cut off every time he tried to interject. It was not difficult to know what the subject must be. Particularly since they both kept glancing over at me. I wished to disappear or to sink into the floor.  
  
Yet another hour passed and finally people started drifting away. Stopping to pay their compliments to Voldemort for the floorshow, the woman still had not been removed.  
  
Eventually Father led us out into the warm night air. Nimbus had already been taken back to Father's stables by one of his servants. I climbed into the carriage with something verging on dread. I wished we had one of those sorts of relationships where Father wasn't eternally disappointed in me, and we talked about... things. Enjoyable things.  
  
The carriage lurched forward and Mother gripped the edge of the bench seat, her knuckles white.  
  
"I'm sorry," Father said.  
  
I was stunned for a moment, thinking I had misheard. He was looking at Mother and he'd lifted one of her hands, holding it in both of his, stroking it tenderly.  
  
I had always known that they loved one another, but it was something unseen, unheard. This was clear evidence. Especially when Mother looked up, her mask falling away to reveal a myriad of emotions, none of them good.  
  
Father cupped her cheek, looking into her eyes, and I blushed and looked away from such a private, intimate moment.  
  
Eventually they remembered that I was there and turned to me.  
  
My father cleared his throat, looking at me thoughtfully. "Do you know the whereabouts of The Order's hiding place?" he asked without preamble.  
  
I kept my eyes on my hands, pressed together in my lap. So like my mother. Like Mother I would do anything to protect those I cared for. I shook my head.  
  
Father reached across the gap, grasping my chin and forcing me to look up into his eyes.  
  
"Lucius," Mother said, putting a hand on his arm. He loosened his grip a little, though he did not let go of me.  
  
"I just want to know the truth," he said. "Lord Voldemort is convinced that you are helping The Phoenix." He laughed, but his eyes were flat and cold.  
  
The knot in my stomach tightened. I forced myself to laugh in return. "How ridiculous," I replied. It was ridiculous, it was the truth, apart from that one time when I had let him get away, I couldn't be accused of doing anything more than letting my romantic fantasies run away with me.  
  
Even there, sitting across from my parents, I felt that faint stirring hope that it would be another of those nights that my path would cross with that of The Phoenix.  
  
*  
  
We arrived back at The Manor without incident. Astoria was already there, and I could tell that something was wrong from the set of her jaw.  
  
Father didn't question or try to stop me as I took her hand and led her into the library.  
  
"What on earth happened? Father sent word that I was to leave straight away and go home. You look dreadful."  
  
I was touched that she had chosen to show her loyalty to me in this way, and I put my arms around her and held her for a moment, taking comfort from her. "He's right, you should go home. I witnessed..." I trailed off unable to tell her. "Something terrible happened tonight. My family is right in the middle of it and you should... you need to get away from me, now before it's too late."  
  
"Draco, don't you dare shut me out. If you don't tell me, no-one will."  
  
"I don't know how to tell you," I admitted. "I saw someone die and I'm afraid of what I'm caught in the middle of. It's not... it's not  _sane_. If I could leave..." I left the sentence unfinished.  
  
"Come with me, then," Astoria said, her eyes flashing with determination.  
  
Brief hope flared and died inside me. "I can't leave my parents. I'm scared of what  _he_  will do to them, and I know my father won't leave. He would see it as weak. And Mother won't leave without him."  
  
"And you won't leave without them. Even for me? Even for our child?"  
  
My heart jolted in my chest. "You're... are you sure? How do you know it's mine?"  
  
Astoria laughed bitterly. "Because that would be wonderful wouldn't it? To have a child that looked like Theo whilst I'm married to you."  
  
I suppressed a laugh, thinking how unfortunate it would be for any child to look like Nott, then feeling like a complete cad for it. "Perhaps he'd look like you."  
  
"Or she," Astoria said. "It might be a girl, you know."  
  
If it was a girl then it really wouldn't matter who she ended up looking like. I almost hoped it was a girl, but then we would have to go through all this again.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said at last. "It really didn't work out very well, did it?"  
  
She gave me a funny look. "I-" She hesitated, looking at me speculatively. "I am happy with you. We could... it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it?"  
  
My stomach plunged to my feet. "But you don't love me," I said.  
  
"And you don't love me, but we get along well enough and... I mean, if there was someone else, I wouldn't even suggest it."  
  
"There's someone else," I said, grasping at the straw she held out. "I'm sorry, but there  _is_  someone else."  
  
"Oh." She blushed and I wished I could have thought of a better way to deal with this. Then she smiled far too brightly. "Well, that is wonderful. I hope that she is more accepting and forgiving than Theo."  
  
Oh God. I tried to put my arms around her, but she moved away, holding herself rigid.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said.  
  
"Never mind. I have to go. I will let you know when the time comes. You will want to see your child, I suppose."  
  
My stomach felt knotted with fear. "Yes. I want... I want to do everything I can for hi... for you both."  
  
Astoria nodded. She moved stiffly, her back ramrod straight. I felt like the most vile being in the entire world. Until I remembered that position was already filled at present.  
  
I sank down into a chair by the window, looking out across the moonlit gardens and seeing nothing but Astoria's devastated departure. While I reserved a modicum of outrage that Theo should prove to be so inconstant, I knew it was really all my fault. If I hadn't been too weak to stand up to my father. Then perhaps her father would have consented to her marrying Nott as the next best option.  
  
Mother came and sat beside me, not saying anything as I continued to stare out of the window.  
  
Finally I turned to her. She didn't even try to smile.  
  
"You should go with her," she said. "It's not too late."  
  
I raised a questioning eyebrow. "But we don't love one another. It's better this way."  
  
"Go and make sure she is safe."  
  
It seemed that she was trying to tell me something, without actually spelling it out for me. I frowned, puzzled.  
  
Mother sighed and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, but she tilted her head and whispered softly in my ear instead. "You have to go, it may be the last chance you have."  
  
I jerked my head round to look at her, noticing the fear in her eyes. I shook my head sharply, not risking speaking out loud.  
  
She gave me a cold look, that could have come from my father. "I thought I had brought you up better than that, Draco," she said.  
  
I shivered, but I knew what she was trying to do, and I could be stubborn too. "I'm not going, Mother, and that's all there is to it."  
  
Frustration, anger and fear all coalesced in her eyes for a moment, and then she closed them off, hiding them from me and anyone else who might be watching. She rose elegantly from her seat.  
  
"Your father wishes to see you in his study."  
  
I nodded, wondering what on earth Father had to say. I was tired and just wished to go to bed.  
  
"Lord Voldemort is coming here," Father said, without preamble. "He sent word that he will arrive in the afternoon. We are to play host to him for the foreseeable future."  
  
"What? Why?" I asked, aghast at the very idea.  
  
Father gave me a sharp look. "That is not your concern. This is important. I expect you to behave."  
  
"I'm not a child, Father."  
  
"Then act like a man," he replied, his voice as cold as ice.  


 

*

  
  
I went to bed with a feeling of cold dread welling up inside. Voldemort, in my home. I thought about leaving. Going down the silent steps and out into the night. Saddling up Nimbus and riding... knowing exactly where I would go.  
  
I pictured the whole thing. My escape and arrival at the camp. Everyone would be asleep. I would go to Harry and wake him. I got as far as his eyes opening, peering up and trying to focus before he'd even put his spectacles on. Then, when he had, his gaze clearing and sharpening. But then I found I couldn't imagine any further.  
  
Would he be happy to see me? Perhaps he would be angry. He had been angry with me before.  
  
Despite having sent Astoria away, we were still married, and I was to be a father as well. It was even worse than before.  
  
I pulled a pillow across my face, pressing down on it to muffle my groan of frustration.  
  
I faced facts: there was nothing more to be done. I would stand beside my parents tomorrow as Lord Voldemort arrived, to take over The Manor and run our lives according to his whims.  
  
*  
As bad as I thought it would be, it ended up being far worse.  
  
Mother shut herself off entirely. She drifted about The Manor like a ghost, when she actually left her room.  
  
Father fell over himself trying to accommodate Voldemort in every possible way, including giving up his own bedroom.  
  
I loathed Voldemort with every fibre of my being, but in those first few days I learnt contempt for my father. At every step of the way he bowed and scraped and behaved... not at all as he had told me that a Malfoy should act. He was the very antithesis of the tall, strong, courageous man I had been in awe and fear of all my life.  
  
I started thinking about escape again. And when Voldemort announced to us, his faithful circle, that he had organised two bands to deal with the undesirable elements at large - "Death Eaters" and "Snatchers" - I wanted to ride out and warn Harry.  
  
I was being watched. Thankfully not by Greyback, but another rather rodenty-looking man who introduced himself as Peter, but everyone called Wormtail with great disdain. I kept trying to give him the slip, but he was surprisingly good at keeping me in his sights.  
A wearying five weeks on, I was beginning to wonder if the only way out was death. In which case, it would be better to go out in a blaze of glory than sitting in my room being bored to death by the most irritating man alive. Honestly, all he talked about was how his master was going to reward him in the end.  
  
I could have told him that he was delusional, but I was afraid of what would happen if I woke him up against his will.  
  
I had been called down to attend one of the endless meetings Voldemort organised, just because he could. I hated those meetings. He would sit, gleefully listening to reports of his "enemies" being dealt with because of such trivial things as spitting at the mention of his name. Occasionally these reports would be about an entire family being wiped out.  
  
The Death Eaters were like disciples of Voldemort. They were responsible for spreading the word. But also for carrying out the murders of those who would rise up against Lord Voldemort. The symbol of a skull spewing forth a writhing snake was daubed on the front door of the houses of enemies. The idea was to spread fear. To make the rest of the village turn on the ones with the mark. They began to call it The Dark Mark.  
  
The Snatchers were bounty hunters, sent out to bring back the most wanted criminals to The Manor, where Voldemort himself would oversee their torture and death. They did it for the money and the glory.  
  
The greatest prize was reserved for the capture of The Phoenix.  
  
He had not been quiet. In fact, if anything, he was more active than ever. There had been a number of run-ins with the Death Eaters, but also they were targeting the homes of those who I knew and I suppose they must have suspected, were involved. Mulciber was the first.  
  
Snide remarks were made about the fact that I remained under house-arrest whilst the rest of them were out risking their hides night after night. Suggesting everything from the idea that I was being kept as Voldemort’s heir to the belief that I was his “boy” and he buggered me senseless every night. Never within earshot of Voldemort of course, but I got the leers and the taunts. It was better to say nothing than give away my deep loathing for the man.  
  
I had no idea why he kept me there. My father went out with the rest of the Death Eaters, and my place was supposed to be by his side as a Malfoy. I did sometimes feel like the princess in the tower.  
  
There is only so much horror one can bear without going completely mad or shutting down.  
  
Peter Wormtail lost his mind and cut off his hand one night, offering it to Voldemort for God only knew what reason. He bled out on the dining room floor, and was succeeded as my jailer by Professor Snape, who was silent as the grave in the middle of the night.  
  
I stopped seeing what was being described with my mind's eye. Instead I counted flagstones, or followed the patterns on the drapes with my eyes, or traced the grain of the wooden table with my fingers, digging my fingernails in to make another groove in the wood, a secret one that only I would know about. Which led me to wondering if the carpenter who had made the table had made their own secret grooves.  
  
That in turn led me to the idea of secret passageways that might be hidden about the Manor.  
  
I stopped channelling and had to hold my head very still, for fear that someone would pick up on my thoughts. I could not stop myself from glancing out of the corner of my eye. If there was a way out, it would only be visible in the periphery. That's how secrets remained secret, because looking head on at them one could only see what they expected.  
  
Voldemort seemed to favour Snape for some reason. They would often talk, whilst I trailed along behind, running my hands along the walls, feeling for an escape.  
  
Snape took up teaching me again. I supposed it was for something to do, to relieve the boredom. But his lessons were strange. Unsettling. He taught me how to brew poisonous concoctions. He seemed quite obsessed with death in all its forms. He was constantly simmering with anger, and yet I had a strange feeling he was trying to help me.  


 

*

  
  
One morning, a million years after Voldemort had taken over my home, there was a lot of shouting. Thumps and thuds, someone screamed, Aunt Bellatrix's voice raised in a shrill cry. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I looked over at Snape, and wordlessly we agreed to go down and see what was happening.  
  
Mother was lingering in the open doorway of her room, looking toward the stairs. She joined us, her hand clutching my arm as though she would stop me if she could.  
  
We met Father downstairs, and so we descended on the ballroom in a small group.  
  
A group of Snatchers were standing in one corner, trying to hold on to three struggling figures, whilst Bellatrix screeched at them to hand one over. Of course they wouldn't, not if there was a chance that any of them could have been The Phoenix or a member of The Order.  
  
I couldn't see their faces from where I stood. I suddenly wished that I was back upstairs in my room. Safe. Except there was no such thing anymore.  
  
Bellatrix whirled round in a fit of fury, ready to stalk off in a huff, it seemed. Then she saw us, gathered just inside the door.  
  
She stared at me, her vicious look bleeding into a sly smile that I did not like the look of at all. I stepped back, crashing into Snape.  
  
"Draco, sweet little Draco," she sing-songed. "Why don't you come and tell your Auntie Bella if one of these specimens is The Phoenix?"  
  
Father seemed to come to his senses at the name. "The Phoenix?" he said in surprise. Then he gripped my arm tightly, propelling me across the room. I had not the strength to resist. "Come on, Draco, tell us if it's him." He sounded quite frantic with excitement. "If it is," he said, "just think, Draco, we will be the ones to bring him to justice. We will be the ones Lord Voldemort rewards."  
  
"Oh, I don't think so." I recognised Greyback's voice, as he turned to face us. "Let's not forget who caught him."  
  
"But is it even him?" Bellatrix said.  
  
I wondered where on earth Voldemort was. If he had been at The Manor then surely he should have arrived here by now. So that meant he was not here.  
  
The three prisoners were silent, heads down. I winced when I caught the blaze of red hair in the periphery of my vision, unwilling as I was to look straight at them. The shorter of the three had bushy hair spilling out of a loosely tied ponytail.  
  
I cannot describe the feeling when I saw Harry. My heart seemed to simultaneously pirouette and plummet. Greyback grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back. Someone had beaten him so badly he was almost unrecognisable. My jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might lock or break and my eyes burned.  
  
I darted little looks at his face.  
  
Bloody.  
  
Bruised.  
  
Swollen.  
  
His eyes were little more than slits, the green of his irises barely visible. He was dressed like Harry, rather than The Phoenix, in clothes that were far too big.  
  
"Well?"  
  
I glanced at him again. So much blood.  
  
I shook my head. "I can't... I don't think it's him. Why does he look like this?" I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice, though I tried.  
  
"Found 'im like it," one of the Snatchers replied, looking defiant. "We didn't do it if that's what you think. You'd better not tell Voldemort that we did."  
  
"Lord Voldemort," my father interjected again.  
  
I rolled my eyes, but when I focused on Harry again my blood boiled. I wanted to touch him so desperately, I had to grip the fabric of my trousers to prevent it.  
  
"Are you sure it's not him?" Father asked. He peered at Harry as if he'd know, if he just looked close enough. "Doesn't he have a scar of some sort?"  
  
"That's right. A lightning bolt," Mother said. I hadn't even realised she had joined us. "Draco, darling, is it him? Look carefully."  
  
She smoothed his hair away from his forehead, blood smearing across her hands and on the sleeves of her dress. She tried to wipe it away from his forehead, back and forth, making a grimy bloody mess, leaving Harry's hair sticking up in worse disarray than ever.  
  
"There," she said, rubbing her thumb against one side of his forehead over and over again. "that looks like a scar."  
  
I felt betrayed, though I knew that was ridiculous. She had no idea who I was any more. That was all.  
  
I moved closer, smelling the coppery scent of his blood, his sweat and that indefinable thing that was like a siren song to my senses. I thought that surely this must be love, if I was willing to risk myself for him. Not that I was stupid enough to think I was going to save him. What I said now couldn't change things. Voldemort would most likely kill him, one way or another. But if he didn't know who he had, then maybe at least he wouldn't torture Harry too badly.  
  
"It's... I can't be sure. I don't think so."  
  
"What about the other two?" Greyback asked. "Are either of them part of The Order?"  
  
I shook my head, though I couldn't give voice to the lie, not for them.  
  
The Snatchers looked deflated. They jerked Ron, Hermione and Harry back. "Call Voldemort," the smallest of the three said. "Le'ss see what he's got to say."  
  
I shuddered, my heart thumping hard against my ribcage. I thought any moment someone would hear it and find me out.  
  
"How can you not know?" Father asked, his voice pitched low but still managing to maintain the cold disdain in it. "You were with him for a week. Living with him."  
  
"He didn't look like this," I replied, just as coldly. "Why would anyone think it  _is_  him? His clothes are appalling. And look at him - look at his face. Is it my fault that one or all of these fools has beaten him so badly as to make him unidentifiable."  
  
The Snatchers all denied it of course, protesting their innocence, getting more and more vehement as I stood my ground, until one lurched toward me his fists raised. I shrank back.  
  
Father slashed at the man with his cane, sending him reeling back, howling with rage and clutching at his arm.  
  
"What charge have you brought them in on?" Father demanded. "Draco's right, they don't look like bandits."  
  
"They 'ad this on 'em." One of the Snatchers said, stepping back and kicking a large sack making whatever was inside clatter together noisily.  
  
Greyback opened the neck of the sack and the contents glinted and gleamed in the candlelight.  
  
I swore inside my mind and looked away. Caught red handed.  
  
Bellatrix was shoving her way forward, her eyes wide, the expression on her face one of fury.  
  
"Let me see that," she said, and she fell to her knees scrabbling through the sack. It was a horrifying sight.  
  
She looked up, and I thought she was going to scream at them, but then she scrambled forward on hands and knees, grabbing at the sword that one of the men was holding slightly behind him as if trying to shield it from anyone else's gaze.  
  
"Where did you get that?" She demanded.  
  
The Snatcher pulled back, holding the sword even further behind him. "It's mine. I found it."  
  
"They had it on them," Greyback said at the same time.  
  
"It's mine," Bellatrix screeched, lunging for the Snatcher and fighting with him for it.  
  
  
"Enough," Father shouted. "Take them to the dungeons."  
"No!" Bellatrix bellowed. "Give me one of them. The girl. Give her to me."  
  
Ron started shouting then. "No, take me instead, leave her alone."  
  
It only made Bellatrix more determined. She laughed and pulled Hermione away.  
  
Ron and Harry were led away still struggling and in Ron's case yelling that he was going to kill them all. Harry choking, spit a wad of blood and saliva on the floor as he went.  
  
Mother ushered me out of the room as Bellatrix descended on Hermione, but there was nowhere to escape from the sound of her screams, which followed us down the hallway. And I could hear Ron throwing against the dungeon door, kicking at it and screaming for her.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity an eerie silence fell.  


 

*

  
  
Locked away in my room, I tried to think of ways to break Harry out. If only I had found a secret passageway, too late to find one now. But I felt the threads that held me together getting stronger once more, as I focused my whole purpose on helping Harry to escape.  
  
I had no idea whether I would be able to go through with it, even if I had an eternity to plan and make it foolproof. Even if the secret passageways were real and not just in my head.  
  
When Voldemort did finally arrive back from wherever he had been, he strode through the entrance hall and into the ballroom. Word had been sent to him of the prisoners, and he was clearly thrilled.  
  
Father, Mother and I had been called to witness whatever he was going to do to them and I stood, fidgeting wondering if I was going to be called on again to identify Harry. Greyback and the other Snatchers were standing together, but there was no sign of Bellatrix or her husband. Or, indeed the sack of valuables and the sword.  
  
Voldemort cast off his robes, letting them fall to the floor. "Where are they?" he asked. "Bring them to me."  
  
"All of them, my Lord?" Greyback asked.  
  
"Yes, Greyback, all of them."  
  
The Snatchers went with him to get the prisoners from the dungeons, and I was startled to see Luna with them.  
  
Voldemort must have caught my look of surprise. "You know this woman?" he asked, pointing to Luna.  
  
"No. I mean, yes, I... I... she came to my birthday party," I blurted out, swallowing hard. "She isn't... why is she... here?"  
  
Voldemort turned his gaze on me and I shuddered, my mouth going dry, unable to apologise. I was terrified of making things worse, though I wasn't sure how I could. His lips curved up in a smile that turned my stomach. "All in good time, Draco. Bring them closer," he instructed.  
  
Hermione was sagging against Ron, he seemed to be mostly holding her up. His jaw was clenched tight with anger.  
  
"Now, let me see," Voldemort said. "I do believe that one of you is The Phoenix." He looked up at the rest of us gathered around. "Shall we see if he will own up to it?"  
  
He crooked his finger, beckoning Luna to come toward him. Greyback leered, going up behind her and pushing her forward.  
  
I never did get to find out how Luna had been caught and what for, because just then Luna, Harry, Ron and Hermione all sprang into action.  
  
They flung aside the bindings, that obviously hadn't been checked before bringing them upstairs. I swallowed a bubble of laughter as the four of them threw themselves into battle.  
  
Luna slid under Greyback's grasping hand, pulling a dagger from his belt and sliding it into his side in one smooth movement. She was like a dancer, whirling around. Greyback clutched his side, blood spilling over his hand, growling and trying to catch Luna, though she kept dodging away.  
  
Ron grabbed one of the Snatchers by the lapels and slammed his head into the man’s face, smashing his nose, blood gushing forth as he howled. Ron took a pair of pistols and a knife from him as he lurched away.  
  
Hermione took the other Snatcher, kneeing him in the groin, punching him with what looked like a wicked punch, and then she too managed to arm herself with his dagger.  
  
Whilst all that was going on Harry came for me.  
  
I almost shied away, unsure of what his purpose was, his expression was unreadable thanks to the mess that had been made of his face.  
  
He grabbed my arm and yanked me away from my parents. My mother screamed my name and Father ran after us.  
  
Voldemort was bellowing for help, unarmed and unprotected as he was, surrounded by the other three.  
  
Harry whistled and Ron flung the knife over. How he caught it I will never know, but he did and then he threw it again. Not at Voldemort, but at the rope pulley that lowered the chandalier above him.  
  
There was the whoosh of the rope, a moment of silence and then an almighty crash. Harry was pulling me, almost yanking my arm out of its socket. I looked back, trying to see where Mother and Father were, if they had been hurt, but they weren't there. What I did see was the sudden burst of flames erupting from the chandalier and spreading out at an alarming rate.  
  
There were servants in the hall outside and I shouted at them to get out, as we raced past. They didn't need telling twice.  
  
Death Eaters who had started to arrive threw questions, but seemed to think the better of going to see what was happening in favour of making their own escapes.  
  
Harry was running for the woods, but it seemed like a million miles away and already my legs felt as though they were going to give way. I pulled back, digging my heels in, and when Harry looked round I said, "stables. Nimbus."  
He nodded, whistling to Ron, Hermione and Luna. We didn't waste time on the tack. Ron and Hermione took one horse, Luna another, Harry threw himself over Nimbus's back and held his hand out to me, hauling me up behind him.  
  
I clung on tight to him, pressing my head against his back and praying with all my might that we would not be captured.  
  
I looked back, as we rode out, to see flames billowing from the French windows of the ballroom. There were people silhouetted against the fire, all of them standing around just watching as The Manor, my childhood home, began to burn.  


 

*

  
  
The camp was quiet when we reached it. Everyone else was abroad that night.  
  
Luna led the horses away to take care of them, along with Harry, Ron and Hermione’s horses which we had picked up along the way.  
  
Harry jumped down and I almost fell after him. He caught me, his arms wrapping tight around my body until I was steady. He didn't let go of me entirely, keeping his hands on my waist.  
  
I raised my hand to touch his face and he shied away.  
  
"Sorry," I said, grimacing. "Who did this to you?"  
  
"They did," he said, nodding to Ron and Hermione who were kissing as though their lives depended on it.  
  
"What? Why?" Confusion overrode my anger. But still, it was a good job that neither of them was standing close enough for me to hit.  
  
"Because we knew we were going to be captured."  
  
"I thought you said you weren't stupid enough to get yourself into situations like that."  
  
He grinned. At least I think it was a grin, it could have been a grimace. Actually, it is far more likely that it was a grimace now I think of it.  
  
"It depends what the situation is. We had to get Luna out of there. And you."  
  
My heart did a funny little twist, though I tried to tell myself that it didn't mean what I wanted it to mean. I tried to make light of it.  
  
"Well, you look dreadful. Could you not think of any other way that didn't involve mangling your face? You were ugly enough before, now look at you."  
  
He laughed, then winced. "It was the best I could come up with, short of learning how to leap in and out of there by magic."  
  
"You mean you can't?" I asked, feigning astonishment. "Do I have to teach you everything?"  
  
“Perhaps I can teach you some things in return,” he said.  
  
We lapsed into a silence that wasn't quite awkward, but was charged with something. Even looking the way he did, I still found that I wanted to kiss him. I must truly be in love, I thought giddily.  
  
I found a patch of skin that wasn't bruised or cut, a soft bit of skin just behind his ear and I stroked my fingertips against it. He shivered and his fingers flexed and tightened against my waist. I smiled at him and leaned closer, feeling the hot puffs of air as he breathed out against my lips.  
  
And then Luna was there, completely unfazed by what was obviously an intimate moment. She held up one of her jars of goo.  
  
"I'd use this first, if I were you. It's fine for external and internal use."  
  
I had no idea what she meant by that. Were we supposed to eat it? But I could have sworn Harry was blushing as she skipped off to bother Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Let me," I said, taking the jar, planning to seduce Harry with my tender caresses and such like. But every time I put my hand near his face he flinched away. "Oh for goodness sake hold still," I grumbled.  
  
"You don't know what it feels like," he said. "I've got a better idea. I'll put it on and you distract me."  
  
"Distract you how?"  
  
He shrugged. "I dunno, you're always pretty distracting to be honest."  
  
That was definitely flirtation, I thought. We were facing one another, each sitting astride the fallen tree trunk. Our knees pressed together. I placed my hand on his thigh.  
  
"Is that distracting enough?" I asked. I could feel myself blushing.  
  
"Not nearly enough," he said.  
  
I slid my hand up, along his leg, and up to his waist. He shuddered a little as my hand passed close to his groin, breathing out as I tugged his shirt loose and slid my hand up underneath.  
  
He paused with a handful of goo as I slid my hand across his belly, feeling the muscles contract as he held his breath. Feeling the line of hair that led from his navel down under the waistband of his trousers. I wanted to follow that trail down with kisses. But then, for some reason, it all seemed suddenly too much.  
  
The horrors that we had been holding at bay began to cave in on me. He must have seen it. Throwing down the jar he shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.  
  
*  
  
After that night Harry and I had not touched one another again. I had fallen apart, and I was ashamed, though Luna had told me I needn't be. Luna had been wonderful. We had grown close and I had spent more time with her than anyone else, working through things. Perhaps it was because she understood where I came from.  
  
The news had come of Voldemort's death, though Harry said he wouldn't believe it until he saw it. And that there was always another waiting to take his place. I didn't miss his glance at me when he said that, and I knew he was thinking of my father, but I knew he was wrong about that.  
  
I had sent word to them that I was alive, but that I would not be returning home. That had scared me, but I knew in my heart I had severed my ties to them the moment I had lost my heart to Harry. Though I had begun to think I'd lost my chance with him. We often caught each other's glances across the camp, neither of us smiling, but lingering for a moment before we looked away again.  
  
The longing did not go away. If anything it grew even more intense. My insides felt churned up whenever I saw him or heard his name spoken.  
  
On the morning of the nineteenth day, at dawn, I had gone to the stream for my morning swim. I did this every morning, enjoying the tranquility before everyone else woke up and shattered it.  
  
I dove in to the chilly water, ploughing through the water as fast as I could, trying to keep the cold at bay. It was Autumn, though it had been unseasonably warm.  
  
I went under, coming up and spitting a fountain into the air.  
  
I heard someone laughing and looked up to see Harry watching me.  
  
"We used to have a fountain like that in the gardens at home," I said.  
  
Harry nodded. "I know," he said.  
  
I swam across to the bank, resting on my arms, and Harry came to squat down in front of me. "Can I join you?" he asked.  
  
I looked up into his eyes and my breath caught in my throat for a moment at the raw desire I saw there. "Yes," I said. He smiled and his eyes seemed to glow even brighter. His face still hadn’t healed completely, but he was looking much better an certainly less sore.  
  
He stripped off and I absolutely did not turn away. I didn't even blink, not wishing to miss a moment of it. He threw off his shirt and shucked off his trousers and undergarments, far too quickly for my liking. I would have enjoyed a slow tease, I thought. But it was much too soon to suggest such a thing.  
  
He leapt in the water, letting out a shout as the cold hit him. "Oh for fuck's sake, what are you made of ice?"  
  
I laughed and splashed him and he retaliated before coming after me.  
  
I flung myself forward in the water, swimming as hard and fast as I could, but Harry was quicker. He was on me in moments.  
  
I expected to be ducked under, but his body slid over mine and we twisted in the water until I was facing him and his arms were around me and he kissed me. Soft at first, the tender press of his lips, barely parted against mine.  
  
I clung to him, my arms around his neck, lifting up to wrap my legs about his waist as he stood up on the riverbed. I pushed my fingers through his hair, tugging on it and thrilling at the little moans and gasps that brought forth from him.  
  
He slid his tongue into my mouth, kissing me senseless and dizzy with desire.  
  
I realised that I was rubbing my hips up and down against his unashamedly, our cocks pressing and sliding alongside one another.  
  
I grew far too close far too quickly, but concentrating on the frigid water temperature brought me back under control.  
  
Harry put his hands under my backside, flattening his palms and spreading his fingers out, touching, massaging. I writhed against him, working myself higher than ever, and then I felt his fingertip brush along the cleft, top to bottom, lingering over the entrance and my whole body shuddered.  
  
The thought of him touching me there should have been horrifying, but I was more aroused than ever. Every time he touched me there I shuddered and I couldn't hold back my cries.  
  
"You like that?" he asked, and he sounded as surprised as I was.  
  
I was biting my lip and I nodded emphatically, pressing back as he touched me there again, wanting him to touch me again.  
  
"I didn't think you'd let me," he says.  
  
I knew I wouldn't had I been given the option without feeling what it was like first. The idea of it did not match up to the reality. And then he pressed his fingertip in, just a little.  
  
"And this?" he asked, his voice sounding rougher. I didn't understand what he was getting from it, but perhaps the nerve endings in his fingers were such that they gave him just as much enjoyment. After all, who knew the arsehole could give such dizzying pleasure?  
  
I couldn't answer him, I couldn't speak, that pleasure was spiralling through me, seeming to shoot up and down my spine and radiating outwards.  
  
"I want... more. Please," I begged, pressing my face against his neck and reeling from the sensory overload of his smell and his warmth along with everything else I was feeling.  
  
He started wading towards the side, lifting me up and hoisting me onto the grassy bank.  
  
I fell back, legs still wrapped around Harry's waist. He prized them loose, and hauled himself up alongside me, flopping down in the grass next to me, reaching for his glasses and putting them on.  
  
His hand trailed across my hip, over my stomach, making me laugh. He dipped his finger into my bellybutton and I pushed it away.  
  
"Don't, ugh, I can't stand anyone touching me there." I shuddered, sucking in my stomach and putting a hand over it.  
  
He laughed and kissed my neck. "Alright then."  
  
Oh dear God I loved it. Every last bit of his attention was upon me and I basked in it. I stretched up, pushing my chest towards him as he kissed across it, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and biting it, lightly at first, then harder until I cried out, my cock jerking unexpectedly, as though there was a path straight from my nipple that could only be found through that bite of pain.  
  
He flattened his tongue against it, soothing away the sting. My hands which had been tangled hard in his hair, gripping tightly when he bit me, relaxed and stroked through the ruffled mess. I thought I might like his hair best of all, but then I remembered his eyes. And then I remembered his cock. And really, why did I have to choose only one bit to be most fond of?  
  
He was moving down my body, pressing kisses, and I was drifting a little in a wonderful daydream. The sun had dried me and was warming my skin.  
  
I looked down and watched Harry's dark shock of hair, with my fingers getting lost in it, feeling the soft tickle of it against my stomach. He kissed the hollows of my hips, cheekily taunted me with his tongue getting close to my bellybutton, but I tugged his hair sharply, which made him gasp deliciously and his eyes darken.  
  
And then he took me in his mouth. I might have cried out or spoken, but I cannot recall. All I can remember is the astonishing warmth and wetness, and the shivery pleasure of his tongue curling, sliding, licking, and then the back of his throat, swallowing around my cock. I know that my hips seemed to take on a mind of their own. I could not have kept from thrusting if I had tried.  
  
Harry gagged, held me down with his hands on my hips and bobbed his head faster. Mostly he kept to the head of my cock, but every now and then he would surprise me by taking me all the way in.  
  
I was jealous later, of course, wondering how he had learnt to do such a thing. Not that I would ever have asked.  
  
I was close again. Right on the very edge. I called out to him, telling him so, and he pulled off me without warning, jerking my hands up with him.  
  
"What are you doing? You utter bastard!" I shouted, incensed, trying to shove his head down again. My heart was still pounding as the throb of my cock slowed and abated, leaving an intensely tight, aching feeling in my bollocks and all the way along my cock. "Make me come, I need to come now!"  
  
"You're so bossy," Harry said, pulling my hands out of his hair and taking a good clump with them. He winced. "I want to fuck you, and I don't think you'll enjoy it if you've already come. I want you begging for me."  
  
"Malfoys don't beg," I said in a breathy rush. "Ever."  
  
"We'll see," he said.  
  
He lifted my legs up, putting them over his shoulders and running his finger over my arsehole again. I felt it clench and flutter and unfurl a little.  
  
"Fuck, it's winking at me," Harry said, laughing. I blushed, trying to pull my legs away, but Harry stopped me. "It's beautiful."  
  
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Beautiful?"  
  
It was his turn to blush. "It's... I don't know how to describe it, but it makes me want you so much."  
  
I smirked at him, feeling smug. "Of course."  
  
He grinned, then he took off his glasses and lifted me up a little higher, so my arse was off the ground and he licked me with the flat of his tongue.  
  
I swore, and when he pressed the tip of it against the hole I swore even louder and more creatively. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I went to touch myself, the need to release becoming an agonising ache. But he jerked my hand away.  
  
"Don't... touch," he said.  
  
He twisted me to the side, so that my legs fell to the ground, pushing my legs where he wanted them and opening me up with his fingers. He pressed his tongue more insistently, getting further inside me with each thrust.  
  
I clawed at the ground, scraping up clods of grass and earth and discarding them. Not sure why I was obeying him with the no touching rule, but for the thought that he could make it a thousand times better.  
  
I swore and cursed, half screaming as his tongue twisted and curled and his breath came hot and fast. I could hear him panting with the exertion of it, as though we were flying through the forest on horseback.  
  
Again, I felt my bollocks tighten to an almost unbearable level. I broke then.  
  
"Please, oh God please, Harry, please," I begged. “Don’t stop.”  
  
His hand slid along my thigh, stroking me, but he didn't stop. He also didn’t touch my cock and I felt as though I would go mad if he didn’t soon.  
  
I turned my head, pressing my face against the ground, not caring for the discomfort of dirt and tiny stones and grass tickling my nostrils. I pressed my face there and screamed out my desperation, sure he was trying to kill me.  
  
Finally he stopped. He put his glasses on again, wiping the glistening saliva from his mouth and chin against his forearm.  
  
He stretched out beside again, this time retrieving the jar of goo and unscrewing the lid.  
  
I watched him scoop a handful, wondering what on earth he was going to do with it. I soon found out. He slicked my cleft and my arsehole with it, pressing a good deal of it right inside me. I finally understood what "can be used internally" had meant, which would have been horrifying had I not been enjoying the feel of it immensely.  
  
Harry stroked inside me with his fingers, far longer than I had patience for, and far more than I could stand, so over-sensitised I felt as though my whole body was going to explode at any moment.  
  
"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease," I begged digging my fingers into the ground.  
  
He leaned over me, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he nuzzled against my neck instead, licking and sucking. I was grateful for that, because no matter how far gone I was, I couldn't ignore the fact that he had just been kissing my arse.  
  
He braced himself on one arm, feeling for my arsehole with his free hand, and guiding his cock towards it.  
  
Even just the tip felt enormous as it prodded against my entrance. I understood what he had meant about my not enjoying it if I was already sated. But as on edge as I was, it felt impossible to comprehend him being able to push all the way inside me.  
  
"Alright?" he whispered against my neck, his breath heating my skin.  
  
I nodded, but admitted, "I don't think it's going to fit."  
"It will, but try to relax."  
  
I huffed at him, nerves getting the better of me. "Easy for you to say."  
  
"If you hate it, I'll stop," he said. He lifted his head, looking down at me, a heart-stopping expression on his face. I didn't dare name it, but somehow he had been broken wide open and everything he felt was right there at the surface. "I want you so much," he whispered.  
  
I stretched up, kissing him, pushing my hips down against his cock. His breath shuddered and he moved the hand bracing him, clenching my fingers in his.  
  
It was not the most pleasant experience of my life, as he breached me for the first time. My own cock deflated, though it wasn't as painful as I had feared - I didn't feel as though I was being torn in half. He kept reminding me to breathe and relax, whenever I stiffened up.  
  
When he was all the way in he stopped. We stared at one another, and I wondered if this was it. He was trembling so much his arm gave way and he slumped down against my chest.  
  
"Draco?" he said. "Draco, can I move? Please?"  
  
I hadn't realised he was waiting for me. I blushed and whispered back "yes."  
  
It was achingly slow to begin with. Harry touched my cock, getting it to stand up again. I knew he was holding back on my behalf and it frustrated me. I didn't want to be treated like I was made of porcelain. I liked the way he was rough sometimes. I liked that I could make him stop, just by telling him to. I had never had that power before.  
  
I squeezed his cock with my arsehole and he moaned and juddered, his hips jerking into me fast, once, twice, then stopping again. I loved that! I did it again, and then hooked my legs over the back of his thighs and pushed against him as he thrust slowly into me again.  
  
He cried out, a little wilder this time. Oh God, I was going to make him come undone. I was determined.  
  
I clenched and released, and bore down on him, delighting in every shudder and moan that brought and noting the times when he winced. I pushed my fingers through his hair and pulled hard, making his hips jerk frantically. It was a heady rush to feel him reacting to everything I did. I scratched my hands along his back, digging my nails in and he swore and bucked and this time he didn't stop or slow down. He gripped my hand, grabbing my hip with the other and he thrust into me hard and fast, aggressive.  
  
I went with him as he reached his peak, though I didn't follow him over. His face pinched tight and he stiffened for a moment, then his whole body contorted. I could feel it, the way his cock expanded and pulsed, releasing warm and wet inside me.  
  
He slumped over me, a dead weight. His come was already starting to slide out and down my thighs, making me squirm.  
  
I pushed at him, trying to get him to move. The corner of his glasses was digging into my chest, uncomfortably, and my need to come had returned tenfold.  
  
"Move," I said. "You haven't finished yet."  
  
He groaned. "'m dead," he said.  
  
"God help me if you don't bring me off right now, I will brain you with this damned jar and then you really will be dead."  
  
He levered himself up, both of us winced as his cock slid out.  
  
Harry slid his hand over my hip gently. "Alright?"  
  
I wasn't entirely sure that I was, but there was Harry's hand again, sliding gently across my body. Stroking me. Soothing me.  
  
He pressed kisses to my chest, though this time there were no teeth involved. It was gentle, tender. He kissed my hipbones and I started to shiver. I was still uncomfortable, but that was less of an issue than my aching bollocks.  
  
"Don't," I said, as he started to kiss his way down. "Just use your hand."  
  
He looked like he was going to object, but I begged him with my eyes and he lay down beside me again, kissing my neck, scooping up some more goo and wrapping his big warm hand around my cock.  
  
His hands were calloused and I liked the feel of them on me. I loved the slick slide of it over me. He stroked long and slow, until I was panting and flushed, thrusting up into his hand trying to make him go faster. Begging him to go harder.  
  
My whole being felt like it had contracted into that one point of contact, between his hand and my cock, he slipped a finger inside my arsehole and, before I could object, rubbed against something that made everything feel brighter and more intense.  
  
He kept touching me there and I could hear myself keening, as though my voice was coming from underwater.  
  
I shuddered from head to foot, my cock pulsing violently, shooting all over Harry's hand, over my chest and up to my chin.  
  
Harry withdrew his finger as soon as I had released, he smoothed a few more strokes over my cock, and then he let go, pressing his body down over mine as if I might fall off the earth otherwise. I felt like I might. I was grateful for the anchor for a moment, before I became aware of my discomfort again.  
  
I made him turn away as I slid back into the river, thankful that we had chosen to do this by the water’s edge.  
  
I sank down to my shoulders and watched Harry, who had sat up his knees raised, resting his arms on them, his back curved and he was looking off into the distance.  
  
He sighed and impulsively I called his name. "Harry."  
  
He looked over at me. "Are you alright?" he said after a few moments.  
  
I nodded. "I just wasn't... I didn't know what to expect. I'm sore."  
  
He gave me a half smile. "I'm sorry. I'll put some of Luna's stuff on, it'll help."  
  
"I don't mind it," I said.  
  
His smile widened. "Oh?"  
  
I just hummed and dipped below the water for a moment.  
  
When I came up again he had moved, so that his legs dangled into the water.  
  
I went over to him and hauled myself up. "Next time," I said, looking deep into his eyes. "I am going to fuck you so hard that you will feel it for a week."  
  
"Is that so?" he asked, laughing and tackling me to the ground.  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
I stretched up to kiss him, he melted against me and everything else drifted away.  


 

**Epilogue**

  
  
Scorpius ran through the camp, whooping and yelling as Rose and little Hugo, Ron and Hermione's children, followed.  
  
Astoria was sitting on the ground, while Luna put flowers in her hair, leaning down every now and then to steal a kiss. Luna was pregnant by Rolf, a relatively new addition to the camp, who seemed terribly happy to be the third in their relationship.  
  
I hadn't thought I would ever see my son. The announcement of his birth was placed in The Prophet, and I had fretted about it until Harry had said of course we should go.  
  
It had all worked out surprisingly well.  
  
Astoria had gone back to live in our marital home, rather than stay under her father's roof. I had been declared missing presumed dead by my father, trying to avoid the scandal I supposed. Though the stories of The Phoenix and The Dragon hinted that not everyone bought it.  
  
What surprised me was how easily she gave it all up.  
  
She had been cool at first, and I couldn't blame her. But when we were about to go she had said "Take me with you. I don't know where you’re going and I don't care, I can't live here anymore."  
  
I felt a pang of regret for my mother, but there was no way on earth she would ever come to the camp, and there was no way on earth I would ever tell Father where it was.  
  
Some of the redheads had left to settle down elsewhere. Bill, Charlie and Ginny amongst them.  
  
Pansy had married Blaise in the end, causing quite the scandal, going against Pansy's father's wishes. I was pleased for them.  
  
It was the summer of my twenty-ninth year. The Phoenix and The Dragon were lovers. My life was so full of joy, excitement and adventure, I could barely remember what it had been before we met. All was well.  


 

-The End-

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